55. THE SPIRIT OF DEMOCRACY IN AMERICA AND IN EUROPE [ABBE LECORDAIRE, born in 1802, obtained a brilliant eminence at the bar in France, when, to the astonishment of all, he renounced the most flattering prospecst to become a priest of the Order of St. Dominic, and devoted his rare talents to his celebrated Conferences at Nôtre Dame. Father Lecordaire was also a member of the French Academy, where he represents Christian eloquence in the most elevated and perfect sense.] THE HE American who respects the law of God respects also the law of man; and if he believes it unjust, he reserves himself to obtain the repeal of it some day, not by violence, but in making for himself a peaceful and sure arm of all those means of persuasion which intelligence gives a man, and by the still more powerful means which he is able to possess from a tried devotion to the cause of justice. 2. To the European democrat I may say still, with neces sary exceptions, the law is only a decree rendered by force, and which force has the right to overthrow. Was it an entire people who had given their assent and their sanction, he pretends that a minority, or even a single man, has the right to oppose to it the protestation of the sword, and to tear in blood a paper which has no other value than the want of power to replace it by another. 3. The American, come from a land where the aristocracy of birth always enjoyed a considerable part in public affairs, has cast away from his institutions the hereditary nobility, and reserved to personal merit the honor of governing. 4. But at the same time that he is passionately devoted to the equality of conditions, whether he considers it in a point of view derived from God, or in the point of view of a man, he does not estimate liberty at a less price, and, if the occasion presented itself for choosing between one and the other, he would do as the mother did in the judgment of Solomon: he would say to God and the world, "Do not separate them, because they have but one life in my soul; and I will die the day that one dies.” 5. The European democrat does not understand it thus. In his eyes equality is the grand and supreme law, that which prevails over all others, and to which all should be sacrificed. Equality in servitude appears preferable to him to liberty sustained by a hierarchy of ranks. He likes much better Tiberius ruling a multitude which no longer possess either rights or a name, to the Roman people governed by a patrician class, and receiving from it the impulse which makes them free with the reign which makes them strong. 6. The American leaves nothing to the mercy of an arbitrary power. He understands that, commencing with his soul, all that belongs to and surrounds him should be free-family, commerce, province, association for letters or science, for the worship of his God or the well-being of his body. 7. The European democrat, idolater of what he calls the State, takes the man from his infancy to offer him as a holocaust to public omnipotence. 8. He pretends that the infant, before seeing the property of the family, is the property of the city, and the city—that is, the people represented by those who govern it--has the right to form his intellect on a uniform and equal model. He pretends that the commune, the province, and every acsociation, even the most indifferent, depend on the State, and can neither act, speak, sell, buy, nor, in fine, exist without the intervention of the State, and only within the bonds determined by it, making thus the most absolute civil servitude the vestibule and foundation of political liberty. 9. The American gives to the unity of the country only just what is necessary to make it a body; the European democrat oppresses every man in order to create for him, under the name of country, a narrow prison. 10. If, finally, gentlemen, we compare the results, American democracy has founded a great people-religious, powerful, respected; free, in fine, although not without trials and perils. European democracy has broken the ties that connect the present with the past, buried abuses in ruins, raised up here and there a precarious liberty, agitated the world by events. much more than it has renewed it by institutions; and, incon testable master of the future, it prepares for us, if not instruct ed, the frightful alternative of a demagogy without foundations, or a despotism without curb. LECORDAIRE THE 56. THE DEATH OF O'CONNELL. THERE is sad news from Genoa. An aged and weary pilgrim, who can travel no further, passes beneath the gate of one of her ancient palaces, saying with pious resignation as he enters its silent chambers, "Well, it is God's will that I shall never see Rome. I am disappointed. But I am ready to die. It is all right." The superb though fading queen of the Mediterranean holds anxious watch, through ten long days, over that majestic stranger's wasting frame. And now death is there the Liberator of Ireland has sunk to rest in the Cradle of Columbus. 2. Coincidence beautiful and most sublime! It was the very day set apart by the elder daughter of the Church for prayer and sacrifice throughout the world, for the children of the sacred island, perishing by famine and pestilence in their homes and in their native fields, and on their crowded paths of exile, on the sea and in the havens, and on the lakes, and along the rivers of this far-distant land. The chimes rung out by pity for his countrymen were O'Connell's fitting knell ; his soul went forth on clouds of incense that rose from altars of Christian charity; and the mournful anthems which recited the faith, and the virtue, and the endurance of Ireland, were his becoming requiem. 3. It is a holy sight to see the obsequies of a soldier, not only of civil liberty, but of the liberty of conscience of a soldier, not only of freedom, but of the Cross of Christ-of a benefactor, not merely of a race of people, but of mankind. The vault lighted by suspended worlds is the temple within which the great solemnities are celebrated. The nations of the earth are mourners; and the spirits of the just made perfect, descending from their golden thrones on high, break forth into songs. 4. Behold now a nation which needeth not to speak its melancholy precedence. The lament of Ireland comes forth from palaces deserted, and from shrines restored; from Boyne's dark water, witness of her desolation, and from Tara's lofty hill, ever echoing her renown. But louder and deeper yet that wailing comes from the lonely huts on mountain and on moor, where the people of the greenest island of all the seas and expiring in the midst of insufficient though world-wide charities. Well indeed may they deplore O'Connell, for they were his children; and he bore them "A love so vehement, so strong, so pure, That neither age could change nor art could cure.” W. H. SEWARD. 57. THE EXECUTION OF MONTROSE, 1645. [There is no ingredient of fiction in the historical incidents recorded in the following ballad. The perfect serenity of Montrose, the "Great Marquis," as he was called, in the hour of trial and death,-the courage and magnanimity which he displayed to the last,-have been dwelt upon, with admiration, by writers of every class.] COME OME hither, Evan Cameron; come, stand beside my knee,— I hear the river roaring down towards the wintry sea. There's shouting on the mountain-side, there's war within the blast: Old faces look upon me,-old forms go trooping past. I hear the pibroch wailing amidst the din of fight, And my dim spirit wakes again, upon the verge of night. II. 'Twas I that led the Highland host through wild Lochaber's snows, What time the plaided clans came down to battle with Montrose. I've told thee how the Southrons fell beneath the broad clay more, And how we smote the Campbell clan by Inverlochy's shore. I've told thee how we swept Dundee, and tamed the Lindsays' pride; But never have I told thee yet how the Great Marquis died. III. A traitor sold him to his foes ;-0, deed of deathless shame! name, Be it upon the mountain's side, or yet within the glen, Stand he in martial gear alone, or backed by arméd men, Face him, as thou wouldst face the man who wronged thy sire's renown; Remember of what blood thou art, and strike the caitiff down! IV. They brought him to the Watergate, hard bound with hempen span, As though they held a lion there, and not a 'fenceless man. But when he came, though pale and wan, he looked so great and high, So noble was his manly front, so calm his steadfast eye, The rabble rout forbore to shout, and each man held his breath; For well they knew the hero's soul was face to face with death. V. Had I been there, with sword in hand, and fifty Camerons by That day, through high Dunedin's streets, had pealed the slogan-cry. Not all their troops of trampling horse, nor might of mailéd men, Not all the rebels in the South, had borne us backwards then! |