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country this is the provision they make for its wretchedness, and degradation, and growing danger."

Much have we to say respecting church reform, in the true sense of the word; but the space to which this paper has already extended forbids more than the briefest notice of the topics to which we would fain advert at greater length, could we do so without exceeding our proper limits, or disturbing previous arrangements.

And firstly, respecting the appointment of bishops, is it, or is it not desirable that some rules should be laid down respecting the exercise of the prerogative in that particular; seeing that, in the nature of things, the church may now be exposed to a sinister infuence from popish, or radical, or infidel advisers ?

Next, respecting their number, ought they, or ought they not, to be augmented, both in relation to the growing population, and as an indispensable pre-requisite for that subdivision of parishes, which should, undoubtedly take place. No one man can do the work of ten; and that one man is called upon, to do so when he is burdened with the cure of twenty thousand souls?

Then, respecting the manner in which appointments to benefices take place, ought there, or ought there not, to be some regulations adopted which would tend to prevent an abuse of patronage, and be a protection to the patron himself against those domestic solicitations, and those natural partialities, which often pervert the good and “blind the wise" in their discharge of such a sacred duty? And here we cannot avoid expressing the strong disgust which we experienced at seeing the grave question of the extinction of cathedral establishments, for the supply of parochial necessities, converted into a vulgar squabble scarcely superior in dignity to that which takes place between Punch and Judy. Old Sydney Smith contends, tooth and nail, for the sacred and indefeasible right of the corps of a cathedral to the disposal of all their good things, and the reasonableness of regarding them as provisions for their children or connexions. Well may he despair of getting up any force of public opinion in favour of so

stupid an iniquity. The only mode for causing church patronage now to be regarded as sacred, is to show that those who hold it regard it as a sacred trust; and the worthy prebendary may well believe, that if he and his followers misappropriate it for one purpose, the public at large will have little scruple in misappropriating it for another.

Again, respecting the learning of the clergy, ought there or ought there not, to be some fixed provision by which lettered men might be left at ease, to the enjoyment of that quiet and leisure which are so favourable to devotional contemplations; where, to use Hooker's happy words, they may

see God's blessings spring from their mother earth, and eat their bread in peace and privacy ?"

But suffice it for the present to have suggested to our readers these pregnant interrogatories. All men see that the church, as at present situated, is in a position most anomalous. All that influence over it which was safely lodged with the executive, when every

man must be a churchman in order to be an adviser of the crown, may no longer be safely lodged there, now that the worst enemies of the church may, at any moment, be called to the councils of the sovereign, and entrusted with the disposal of its highest preferments. This, alone, should cause every true churchman to awaken to a sense of the common danger. Already, in this country, the dreadful consequences of such a state of things is becoming awfully manifest. Baron Fortescue need only go on as he has commenced, and exercise the power entrusted to him by law, in order to work the degradation and the ruin of the establishment in a manner far more complete, than he would have been enabled to do by the most hostile proceedings to which he could be a party in the House of Commons. And if something be not done, and that speedily, to remedy this deplorable state of things, and to give the church the same exemption from hostile influence, and the same protection and the same discretion in the management of its affairs, which belongs to every other denomination of Christians, the time is not very far distant when, as a national institute, it must pass away.



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Ir is no more than might be expected that in two countries like France and England, where civilization has ad. vanced more especially than in any other part of the globe, a continual rivalry should be ever kept up on the score of their individual advantages and institutions. The petty warfare of farce-writers and vaudevilists, reproaching the one as a nation of perruquiers," and the other as a land of beef-eating sots, has most happily come to an end. Contemptible as it undoubtedly was, it still sufficed to perpetuate the old grudge between the two kingdoms, and, so long as it lasted, most effectually prevented any wellgrounded intelligence between them. We well remember, some twenty years ago, when" Les Anglais pour rire brought crowded houses to the Porte St. Martin, to see Potier perform the character of an English lady, with York tan long gloves, a coal-scuttle bonnet, and leather laced boots. The ludicrous blunders in English-French, and absurd caricature of our English walk and demeanour were irresistibly droll and amusing; but still the representation was intended for something more than to excite a good-natured laugh at our expense, and so was it most properly regarded by the then English Ambassador, who at once appealed to the government, and had the piece suppressed. We doubt very much if the French public would ap plaud it now, and still more if Lord Granville would deem it worth his while to notice it in any way; it is not, perhaps, that any much greater cordiality in reality exists between the two great rivals, but certainly a better tone of feeling, and one more in accordance with bon usage, has sprung up; and where we formerly sneered at and ridiculed, we are now content to argue and discuss. We, upon our sides, are quite ready to believe that the French do something else besides eat frogs, and they are equally willing to confess that the current amusements of England take a wider range than that expressed in the old caricature of Louis Dix-huit, returning to his country rubicund and lusty—when to the question,

Leaving the question of dress, equi-
page, and cookery to individual tastes,
we have entered the lists upon more
weighty and important grounds—our
representative systems, our monarchies,
our commercial productiveness, and
With the latter we
our codes of law.
shall occupy ourselves for the present,
reserving some notices of the other
topics for a future period.

It is a constant subject of remark by
foreigners, that our English laws, framed
and based as they are upon our unde-
viating respect for personal freedom as
a birthright, favour the escape of the
guilty in many more cases than with
them. The privilege of the accused to
refuse answering all questions that might
tend to his crimination, strikes them as
sapping the whole principle by which
crime is detected, and they scruple not
to call it absurd and ridiculous-while
they see nothing unfair or unreasonable
in the artful cross-examination to which
the Procureur du roi submits some poor
unlettered and perhaps innocent pea-
sant. Both extremes have their disad
vantages; but so long as we esteem it
an axiom in our code that "it were

better ninety-nine guilty men should
escape than that one innocent man should
suffer," our practice is not only more
humane, but more just. Whatever
right we may exercise over the persons
and properties of the evil-doer, we
have clearly none over the unoffending


It is not upon such principles as these that French laws proceed. The war of extermination against crime gives no quarter. The guilty man, or the "prevenu"-for with them it is the same is surrounded by snares, and encompassed by spies-his habits noted, his chance expressions weighed-his looks are studied his very sleep is not sacred. Meanwhile the law appears to slumber. Rocked into security by the hope of escape or the consciousness of innocence, the suspected man knows nothing of the mine which is ready to explode beneath him. At last the fatal hour arrives; he is committed to gaol, and, after some days' confinement, brought forth to sustain the attack of the public prosecutor for such it really "Que pourriez vous faire en Angleterre ?" is-who invariably, in his cross-exahe replies, mination, pre-supposes the guilt of “Nous_mangeons rost-bif, et pommes de terre." the accused.

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Suppose him innocent, and think for an instant what his feelings must be. His position in the dock is in itself an ignominy; circumstantial evidence is brought against him which, even to himself, is staggering to his reason. His answers are, perhaps, broken and uncertain at first-then afterwards, as his inferior intellect yields beneath the practised talent of his assailant, become equivocal and even contradictory. His truth is shaken-his confidence in himself broken-what are the chances that he escape? Such is the history, in a few words, of a French criminal trial. We have witnessed many such, and always with but one feeling that of horror and disgust. But the evil ends not here; and the very fault the practice was adopted to correct is absolutely encouraged by its employment. In the very same ratio that the innocent man is exposed, by the risk of a confusing and terrifying cross-examination, the guilty one is favoured if he be a man of cleverness, by the opening this affords to a most artful species of defence. A case of the kind lately came before my notice.

Carl Shumacher, a German physician, was accused before the "Cour d'Assizes of Seine et Marne," of having caused the death of his friend, Heinrich Rheinhausen, by poison. These two persons, both men of education and family, had met at Cologne, where a controversy upon the subject of one of Shumacher's medical theories had made them acquainted. Rheinhausen had been at first a bitter antagonist; but subsequently became a strong advocate and warm supporter of the new discovery. A close intimacy followed, and Rheinhausen, who was engaged to be married to a young lady in that city, introduced his friend Shumacher to the family, where he soon became a frequent visiter. So far all went on well : the union between Rheinhausen and his fiancée only waited for some pecuniary arrangements, which required a few months; and it was advised that to pass the interval Heinrich should accompany Shumacher into Switzerland, where he was about to make a short tour. While these arrangements were pending, Shumacher, who was a man possessed of great conversational powers, and highly-gifted in many ways, contrived to weaken the feeling of the young lady for her betrothed husband. He affected to feel desperately in love with her, and only to be withheld from its

avowal by his attachment to his friend. In this way matters remained till the eve of their departure for Switzerland, when Shumacher made a confession of his feelings to her, and obtained in return an acknowledgment that she loved him. The next morning the two friends departed.

They had been absent about three months when they arrived at Barege. Here Rheinhausen falling suddenly ill, was tended by his companion with the utmost solicitude, who himself made up all the medicines which were admi. nistered. Rheinhausen grew worse, and on the second day after his being seized, Shumacher departed from Barege for Geneva, telling his friend that finding his state precarious, he should go for his brother, who was a pretre in that city, and bring him to see him. The next morning Rheinhausen died. The circumstances which attended the whole case were sufficiently suspicious to cause inquiry: an autopsie of the body was performed by order of the authorities, and it was pronounced that Rheinhausen had died of poison.

Shumacher had meanwhile left the country, and all search after him proved fruitless at the time. About six months after these events took place, Mademoiselle de Branen, the fiancée of Rheinhausen, left Cologne to visit some friends at Vichy, where she was soon joined by Shumacher, who was quite unknown there, and who had been in constant correspondence with her ever since their parting-she never having heard any rumour of his imputed guilt whatever. Their acquaintance continued for some time, and at length he proposed to marry her. He was accepted, and the day fixed-when, walking one morning in the promenade of the town he was arrested by the commissaire of police, and thrown into prison.

These affairs march rapidly in France. He was brought to trial; and then came forth that most ingenious species of defence, in allusion to which I have mentioned these circumstances.

All the efforts of the Procureur du roi to throw even discredit upon his conduct failed utterly. He represented himself as having treated his late friend upon their own mutual system of medicine, in which alone they had any confidence. He acknowledged that prussic acid had been largely adminis tered, but asserted that the greatest benefit was always the result. very desertion of Rheinhausen he ap


pealed to as a proof of his attachment, as having undertaken a long journey merely to relieve his mind. He adverted to his return to France as a proof of his innocence-such a course being certain, if he were guilty, to prove his ruin. Finally, his letters to Mademoiselle de Branen were produced, in which expressions throwing out vague hopes of one day realising his wishes respecting her, were frequently met with. These he explained by an absolute and direct reference to the "Dictionaire de l'Academie," where the signification he pretended to have put upon them was really found, and gave a very favourable view of his meaning. This, being a German, was a most admirable explanation, and the effect upon the court strongly in his favour. His examination lasted above five hours, and when it concluded there was scarcely a single person in the crowded tribunal who did not believe him innocent; and yet, in the face' of all this, evidence came out subsequently from other witnesses, that Rheinhausen had been poisoned, and that he himself knew it; and Shumacher made a confession of his guilt by a letter to Mademoiselle de Branen the evening preceding his appointed execution, when he committed suicide in the gaol. Now, it may be replied that every portion of this defence might have been made according to our English laws by the system adopted in our criuninal trials; but, mark the difference. Here the accused stood forth in the beginning, not charged as with us by a long indictment setting forth his crime, and supported by evidence, as witness after witness came forward and attested to each portion which came under their cognizance. He stood not under the weighty impression which imputed guilt conveys, but at once by putting his own construction upon every tittle of the charge, established a character before the jury of the greatest consequence to his chances of escape. And this a clever and ingenious man, however guilty, may always do; while the ignorant and uninformed, however conscious of his innocence, may break down by the artful attack of a Procureur, who numbers his triumphis, like an Indian savage, by the scalps of his victims. And thus we return to our former assertion, that this mode of conducting a trial not only is prejudicial to the chances of the guiltless man's assertion of his innocence, but also, and in nearly as great a proportion, strongly

favours the really criminal, if he be endowed with cleverness, to effect his escape. The former is the butt of a brow-beating and insulting attack: the latter, from his superior ability, is treated with a caution almost bordering on respect, for it is a gladiatorial combat, in which the strength and dexterity of the antagonist are well weighed and pondered over by his assailant.

So much for one side of the picture. Let us now turn to the other. Chance and that spirit of inquiry, which Paul Pry excuses in himself by calling it the characteristic of the age, once led us to visit the lunatic asylum of Charenton. Amid the many sad and afflicting instances of debased and degraded humanity we met with, one man struck us most particularly. He was about five-and-thirty years of age, tall and well-built, with a lofty forehead and a deep-set penetrating eye. The whole character of his head was highly intellectual; but the expression of his features was melancholy and depressing beyond any thing my words can give an idea of. The face was deadly pale, and marked by small blue veins; and the dragged mouth and downcast look bespoke utter despair. He never noticed the persons about him, but stared fixedly at vacancy, and muttered constantly in a broken and supplicating voice, as if entreating forgiveness of some great and heinous crime.

"Will he recover?" said we, as we turned to leave the spot.

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Never," said the keeper. "his is a madness never curable."

On our return to Paris M. E—, the celebrated physician, who had accompanied us to Charenton, gave us the following brief account of this man's


Monsieur Eugene S had so brilliantly distinguished himself in his career at the French bar, that, at the early age of twenty-eight he was named Procureur du roi, an office in many respects similar to that of our attorney-general. To a great knowledge of his profession, rarely attainable at so early a period of life, he united the gift of a most convincing eloquence; and, stranger still, a thorough acquaintance with human nature in all its shapes and phases, which seemed absolutely incompatible with his habits of close study and seclusion. There was no art nor "inctier" with the details of which he was unacquainted; no rank or walk in life, whose feelings and prejudices he could not dip into,

and identify himself with. The very dialect of the lowest classes he had made his study, and from the patois of Normandy, to the outlandish jargon of the Gascogne, he was familiar with all. Talents like these were not long in establishing the fame of their possessor, and before he had been four years at the bar, it was difficult to say whether he was more feared as a rival by his colleagues, or dreaded as an accuser by the criminal. This to a French avocat was the pinnacle of professional fame.

As his practice extended, his labour at home became much greater; frequently he did not leave his study till daybreak, and always appeared each morning at the opening of the court. The effect upon his health was evident in his pallid look, and his figure, formerly erect and firm, becoming stooped and bent; the life of excitement his career presented, left neither time nor inclination for society or amusement; and his existence was thus one great mental struggle.

All who understand the nature of a trial for life and death in France, are aware that it is neither more nor less than a drama, in which the Procureur du roi plays the principal character; and whose success is estimated by but one test-the conviction of the accused. There is no preparation too severe, no artifice too deep, no plot too subtle for the advocate upon occasions like this; he sets himself patiently to learn the character of the prisoner, his habits, his feelings, his prejudices, his fears; and by the time that the trial comes on is thoroughly familiar with every leading trait and feature of the man.

In combats like this our advocate's life was passed; and so complete a mastery had the demoniacal passion gained over him, that whenever, by the acquittal of а "prevenu," he seemed to be defrauded in his rightful tribute of admiration and applause, the effect upon his spirits became evident; his head drooped; and for several days he would scarcely speak. The beaten candidate for collegiate honours never suffered from defeat as he did; and at last to such a height had this infatuation reached, that his own life seemed actually to hang in the scale upon every trial for a capital offence; and upon the issue, threatened death to the advocate or the accused. Laquel de deux," said an old barrister, at the opening of a case, and the words became a proverb concerning Monsieur S.

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This mania was at its height when the government directed him to proceed to Bourdeaux to take the direction of a trial, which, at that period, was exciting the greatest interest in France. The case was briefly this :A gentleman travelling for pleasure, accompanied by a single servant, had taken up his residence for some weeks upon the banks of the Garonne. Here the mild urbanity of his manners and prepossessing address had soon won for him the attention and good will of the inhabitants, who were much taken with him, and in an equal degree prejudiced against the servant, whose Bretagne stupidity and rudeness were ill calculated to make friends for him. In the little village where they sojourned two new arrivals were sure to attract their share of attention, and they were most rigidly canvassed, but always with the same judgment.


Such was the state of matters, when one morning the village was thrown into commotion by the report that the stranger had been murdered in the night, and that the servant was gone, no one knew whither. On opening the door of the little cottage a strange and sad sight presented itself: the floor was covered with packing cases and chests, corded and fastened as if for a journey; the little plate and few books of the deceased were carefully packed, and every thing betokened the ргераration for departure. In the bed-room the spectacle was still more strange; the bed-clothes lay in a heap upon floor covered with blood, and a broken razor, a twisted and torn portion of a dressing-gown lay beside them; there were several foot-tracks in the blood upon the floor; and these were traced through a small dressing-room which led out upon a garden where they disappeared in the grass; the servant was no where to be found, neither could any trace of the body be discovered. Such were, in few words, the chief circumstances which indicated the commission of the dreadful crime, and in the state of public feeling towards the two parties, were deemed sufficiently strong to implicate the servant, who, it was now discovered, had been scen some leagues up on the road to Bourdeaux early that morning.

The commissaire of police set out immediately in pursuit; and before night the man was arrested. At first his usual, stupid, and sullen manner was assumed; but on hearing that the death of his master was now proved,

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