He says:- In Boston there are nineteen public grammar schools, a Latin, and an English high school. The buildings for them, twenty in number, cost £130,641 12s. There are 135 primary schools, worth £30,000. That all the school-houses in the city have cost £160,641 12s. Then the cost of these 156 schools for this year is estimated at £34,CCO, and the number of scholars in them is 16,479, while Harvard University, the most expensive college in America, costs about £9,200 a-year. Now the ship 'Ohio' has cost £166,969, and we pay each year for it £41,000 more; that is, it has cost £6,327 8s. more than those 155 school-houses of this city, and costs every year £100 more than Harvard University and all the public schools of Boston.' We shall return again to this sermon, and earnestly recommend it to the perusal both of the friends and foes of war.

All works for Review, to be left with the publisher.

To Correspondents.

John Evans.-Poem on Intemperance.-Sermon on War.-A number of newspapers, for which many thanks are returned. The Freeholder we had to pay post for.

Communications received from F. R. Y., Diss, Norfolk ; George Clementow; Salvator; L. S.; M. C

The Ethnological Journal is about to recommence. Eleven parts are out. Willis Knowles's letter has been overlooked: shall be replied to per post in a few days.

We should be glad to know if any of our readers have a work on the Origin of Religious Nations and Men,' by Godfrey Higgins; if so, will they sell or lend it?

All communications for this periodical are to be addressed to the Editor of the Freethinker's Magazine, care of J. Watson, 3, Queen's Head Passage, Paternoster-row, London. We have received a number of communica tions from good and true friends of the cause on the subject of subscrip tions towards this attempt at propagandism. We thank them most sincerely; and while declining their kind offers as regards this work, beg to suggest the formation in every town of a committee to collect subscriptions, &c., the proceeds to be devoted to supplying the local priesthood with copies of works of progress as fast as they come out. To such communi. ties we promise, on our part (and fancy can guarantee on the part of seve ral other publications), such a reduction on the cost, as shall enable the various committees to distribute a larger quantity than under ordinary circumstances they would be enabled to do. The Editor begs to intimate, it would forward the cause of progress were he furnished with the names and addresses of the clergy of all denominations in their several localities.

Printed by Holyoake Brothers, 3, Queen's Head Fassage, Paternoster-row; and published by James Watson, 3, Queen's Head Passage, Paternoster-row, London.

THE

AND

Review of Theology, Politics, and Literature.

Oceans of ink, and reams of paper, and disputes infinite might have been spared, if wranglers had avoided lighting the torch of strife at the wrong end,; since a tenth part of the pains expended in attempting to prove the why, the where, and the when certain events have happened, would have been more than sufficient to prove that they never happened at all.-REV. C. C. COLTON, A.M.

No. 5.]

OCTOBER 1, 1850.

THE POLITICAL REVIEWER.

[PRICE 2d.

6

I.

THE Political review of the past month presents points of interest and topics of speculation of more than usually varied importance. We have seen Louis Philippe dying in exile at Claremont and buried at Weybridge as the King of the French! We have had daily accounts of our own Queen starring it in the provinces, followed by her attendant flunkeys of the genus aristocratic and the genus reporter. The 'Progress' of Louis Napoleon and the sea serpent' have gone on simultaneously. The one through the northern departments of France, and the other round the south western coast of Ireland, and both have been attended, in one sense, with similar results. The sea serpent was seen emitting tremendous eructations' and again 'plunging into the depths of the ocean.' Louis Napoleon was heard making tremendously imperial speeches, and again plunging into the depths of the Elysée. Close to the frontier of the Rhine, Legitimacy has had its' congress,' and the fat, puffy Count de Chambord has proclaimed himself king. In London Marshal Haynau-the Tilly of Hungary, the flogger of women, the hangman of Batthyany-has been flying, 'with the eyes of all Europe' upon him, frantically along Bankside, pursued by the draymen of Barclay and Perkins and the old women of Southwark. There has been a Synod at Thurles, a Peace Congress at Frankfort, a strong agitation in the Australian world with tendencies to 'independence,' the 'Sunday delivery' has been reestablished, and the long-expected University Commission gazetted.

Louis Philippe stretched on his bed of death at Claremont, surrounded by a mourning family of exiled Dukes and Princes, is a spectacle only paralleled by that death-bed at Goritz of the infatuated Charles X. And how profoundly significant of the spirit of this nineteenth century, so inorganic, so audacious, so fearful of change, so eloquent in criticism, afraid of the reduc

E

tion of principles to practice, yet bold in putting the actions alike of sovereigns and democrats to the severest tests of the destroying spirit of analysis, was the conduct of the press upon the memorable occasion. There was no outburst of grief for his loss; no warm eulogies on his virtues; no undue respect shown to his name and fallen state. But criticism, almost just in despite of the writers-criticism, which sapped the throne of the Restoration and the Royalty of July-criticism, which had alike prepared Europe for the Revolutions of '89 and '48, reigned triumphant over the death-bed of Louis Philippe. His body was scarcely cold, before the pen was actively tracing, in refined phrase and caustic sentence, the character of the departed. Democracy was avenged by her opponents. Freedom of discussion was unwittingly worshipped by its deprecators. No man, without the family circle, said peace to his bones, still less peace to his memory. That has been, and will be, pilloried to the gaze of centuries yet to come; and while the discriminating philosopher will show, as he recognises the influences of birth, education, and circumstances, in the formation of character, some lenity of judgment, the people, who do not refine and philosophise, will execrate the corrupter of France and the betrayer of European Liberty.

His whole life was strange and chequered; but one master principle, self-aggrandisement, prevailed throughout. In his acts of generosity and humanity he calculated the consequences. Born a Duke he became a Jacobin, and courted the people when it was the fashion. But the revolution was not only a fashion; and, once involved in its stern relentless eddies, he had no choice but to yield and draw his sword for the revolution. And as he had courted and flirted with the people, so he fled from their suspicions. After the battle of Valmy, when Dumourier's plot to seduce the army failed, the Duke de Chartres, ever wise and provident, galloped over the frontier and concealed himself in Switzerland. From that time he was a wanderer on the face of the earth. America, Norway, England, in succession provided him a refuge. In 1815 he returned to France and received back the splendid domains of his ancestors. But he took no open part in politics. He lived like a bourgeois or a country gentleman. If he dreamed of kingship in the solitudes of Neuilly he wisely kept his dreams to himself. If he schemed for political influence, he schemed with a skill which has left no trace. When the ordinances appeared upon the walls of Paris, and the journalists assembled to protest, and the people assembled in menacing groups in the streets, Louis Philippe was at his country house. When the insurrection burst forth, and the musketry rattled and the cannon thundered in the public places of the capital, and the blood of revolutionary Paris was up, Louis Philippe appeared not, neither did he give any sign. When the victory was won, Lafayette installed at the Hotel de Ville, the minister in flight, the army in retreat, and the song of combat and victory, so long mute, the Marseillaise, ringing through the streets, Louis Philippe came not, either to stand by his cousin or to head the people. He waited. Charles

abdicated and signed a paper declaring Louis Philippe of Orleans LieutenantGeneral of the Kingdom and Guardian of the Duke de Bordeaux. Louis Philippe had stealthily, in his beloved incognito, sneaked into Paris. Besought, implored, and at length persuaded, he accepted the post assigned him; and invested with this rag of authority by a dethroned and powerless monarch, he dispossessed Lafayette of his supreme position, and in a few days was King of the French. He became a king by a manœuvre. No one could say he seized the throne. No; he shuffled into it upon a pretence and from a hypocritical pretext of bowing in obedience to the wish of the people!

The history of Ten Years of his reign has been written by one who has no living historical rival. Louis Blanc has painted with a force and distinctness which admits of no dispute the sombre hues of that deplorable period. Beginning in treachery and continued by corruption; at the outset lackered over with the pretence of liberalism, at the conclusion stained, deeply and darkly, with innumerable sins against France, against liberty, against humanity itself; a policy resting on expediency, on trickery, on bribery, on meanness; a nation chronic with insurrections stifled in blood, the dark figure of the assassin in the foreground, the darker form of the spy everywhere; corruption in the press, corruption in the management of the theatres, corruption in the ministry, corruption in the offices of the state, corruption on the Bourse, corruption percolating like venom throughout the limbs and arteries of the kingdom; misery, crushed with taxes, broken on the wheel of want, languishing in cellars, starving in attics, dying in the hospitals-these be the characters deep, ineffaceable, which are branded on the shameless brow of that seventeen years' reign. And to balance this we have peace maintained; yes, peace, but at whose expense? We have pictures collected, a few roads, bridges, and harbours built or repaired, trade encouraged by protection, and capital fostered by immunity.

The day of reckoning came. Even the bourgeoisie, whose glory he had been, deserted him. They saw signs of a military despotism in the forts of Paris and the vast standing armies of the king, in the subserviency of a Chamber of Deputies, elected, not by the people, but the prefects. They felt that the foundation of a dynasty was nearer the heart of the monarch than the conservation of their privileges. The people detested the Bourbons. It was sufficient that the signal of revolt should be fired for the throne to disappear. The storm burst. One fine morning, a shabby-looking man, calling himself 'Mr Smith,' landed on the shores of England, and was recognised as Louis Philippe. He had met his reward. As he sneaked into his throne, so he sneaked out of it-leaving behind him the republic he had bent all his strength, exercised all his craft, had recourse to his intense meanness to render an impossibility.

He died with the royalty on that magnanimous 24th of February, when the people abstained from vengeance. Into his tomb was borne, on the 2nd

of September, the discrowned brow of the last king of the French. In his last hour he might have heard the manly voice of democracy, acclaiming, with a unanimous shout, the true sovereign, the PEOPLE-the true government, the REPUBLIC.

The flogging of Haynau is a much more important event, politically speaking, than the death of Louis Philippe. The conqueror of Hungary came to England, no doubt on the faith of the Times, which represents Englishmen as quiet, subservient, peace-loving people, with great sympathy for the Empire of Austria. He went to visit the brewing establishment of Messrs. Barclay and Perkins, and wrote 'Haynau,' in bold characters in the visiting book. Of course, an old man, with long moustachios reaching to his shoulders,' and bearing that execrated name, could not move about unnoticed. It became known by degrees, all over the brewery, who he was. When he reached the stables, a truss of straw, dropping from above, knocked him down. When he rose to his feet, a party of men-some armed with long cart-whips, others with long brooms-surrounded him; the latter sweeping mud over him, the former lashing into him, shouting— 'Oh this is the chap what flogged the women in Hungary!' Missiles now began to fall thickly around and upon him; and, taking to his heels, he set off across the yard. Arrived in the street, he was welcomed with hearty execrations, and treated to some additional lashes, mud and filth of all kinds. An old woman is said to have flirted her mop in his face, for being a womanflogger. A man tried to cut off the long moustache. His hat was knocked over his eyes, his clothes torn; he was laid prostrate. Raised by his attendants, and pursued by the yells of the excited crowd, who cried 'down with the murderer! down with the Austrian butcher!' he ran in a frantic manner along Bankside,' and, seeing a public-house open, he rushed in, esconced himself in a dust-bin,' and there awaited his tormentors. From thence he was dragged out by the hair, again rescued by his attendants, and finally by the police, who found him in a wretched dismantled plight sitting on a bed, hatless, and in an ague of fear. The police, amidst a storm of execration, bore him away in a galley, the crowd on the bank flinging his hat after him. So ended the Haynau hunt-a useful lesson to politicians of his school, and some nearer home. The effect of this attack on the general was magical. He left England the next day for Ostend. But at Cologne the intelligence had arrived before him, and he was hustled there. The men of Hanover went and did likewise.

At first it was said that Haynau was introduced to the brewery as the 'friend of Rothschild.' The Baron, in a letter to the Morning Chronicle, has distinctly stated that he had no connection with the marshal or his visit to Messrs. Barclay and Perkins. Also it was said Messrs. Barclay were about to take summary vengeance on their men. It appears now, that they have not only done nothing of the kind, but actually order the name of Haynau to be erased from the visitors' book, The Times and the Chronicle