repeatedly exclaimed, in the words which he had often used during the previous two months, 'I will have no state of siege. Any one can govern with a state of siege!' The last intelligible sentences which he is said to have uttered were 'State tranquilli; tutto è salvato-Be tranquil; all is saved;' and 'Oh! ma la cosa va; state sicuri che ormai la cosa va’—‘The thing (the independence of all Italy) is going on; be certain that now the thing is going on.' As he gradually sank he was heard at intervals to mutter, 'Italy-Rome-Venice-Napoleon.' As the morning of the 6th of June dawned he fell into a deep lethargy; at seven he passed away almost imperceptibly in the arms of his beloved niece, the Countess Alfieri. Never had a greater sorrow fallen upon a country. In Turin every shop was closed, all public and private business suspended. Even the very children seemed to feel that a great calamity had overtaken them. As the sad tidings spread through Italy, a gloom of mourning, like the shadow of an eclipse, seemed to creep over the face of the land. Even those who had differed from him in life grieved over the loss of a great and good man. The Armonia,' the organ of the priest-party, bore witness to his secret deeds of kindliness and charity. Nay, even the very Austrian newspapers paid newspapers paid a generous tribute to the genius of a great statesman who had passed away. One sole exception disgraced the Italian press. Those who had persecuted him with relentless malice during his life sought to insult his memory after his death-those whose evil plots and cowardly deeds he had hated with the warmth of a brave and honest man. The vile libels which Signor Brofferio * had published whilst he lived were reproduced by the organs of Mazzini and his friends after he was no more. This outrage, however, proved that Cavour had rightly judged these men when he denounced them as the cause of dishonour, misfortune, and servitude to Italy. The day after his death the Count lay in state. The whole population came to gaze for the last time upon that familiar face. Men of every rank followed the body as it was borne to the parish-church through streets hung with black and deep in funeral flowers. It was deposited there only for a time. His native city desired that his remains should be confided to it, to be placed beneath a monument worthy of the man, and of the capital which he had made the cradle of Italy's freedom. The King asked that they should be borne to the Superga, that he himself might *We regret to say that one of these disgraceful attacks was translated into English and sold at a cheap price for the people. one one day be near the servant to whose genius and devotion he owed his unexampled prosperity. But Cavour's own wish was fulfilled. He rests in the small niche he had himself pointed out, beneath the old church of Santena, in the land which belonged to his forefathers, and where his kin have for generations lain before him. For ages to come may the Italian seek the spot, as sacred to the man who gave freedom and happiness to his country, and raised Italy for the third time to her place amongst the nations of the world. The loss to his countrymen of such a man, at such a time, is beyond reckoning. But fortunately for Italy she is not without statesmen who are worthy to carry on the great work which he left unfinished. The foremost amongst them is the Baron Bettino Ricasoli, whom the united voice of Italy chose to fill his place. There is something not unlike in the character and history of the two statesmen. A nobleness of disposition-an integrity which no enemy has dared to assail, and no friend has been called to vindicate a love of his country equal to any sacrifice and any hope—a tenacity of purpose not to be swayed-a commanding eloquence-a kind and benevolent heart-simple and easy, yet dignified and refined manners-have gained for Ricasoli the respect, the love, and the confidence of his fellow-countrymen. Born a Tuscan, he is, like Cavour, the descendant of a very ancient and noble family. He still holds, as its representative, lands which belonged to it in the 11th century. A tower of his ancestral castle of Broglio, hidden amongst the wooded Apennines, near Siena, was built in the 5th century; and the edifice itself has not been added to since the beginning of the 15th. Long devoted, like Cavour, to the management of his estates, he studied agriculture, and advanced the resources and prosperity of his country by the introduction of an improved system of husbandry. Large tracts of marsh-land, once fatal to human life, have through his enterprise been drained and fitted for habitation and culture. His love of constitutional government is chiefly founded upon a study of the political institutions of England and a personal acquaintance with this country. He has the same enlightened views as Cavour regarding the Church of Rome. It was through his firmness and vigilance that, during a period of revolution and dangerous uncertainty, Tuscany had not to deplore one crime or outrage. Entrusted with unlimited authority, he never failed in respect to the law, nor has he been accused of one arbitrary act that was unnecessary. When we hear so much boasting of public virtue, yet see so little of its practice amongst those who claim to be the protectors of Italy, it is worthy to be remembered that during nearly two years of absolute power the Baron Ricasoli not only never received one farthing of the public money, but even contributed out of his own purse to the expenses of the state. Now that Tuscany by her own wish forms a part of the new Italian kingdom, the greatest sacrifice he can be called upon to make is to leave his farms once more, to become the Prime Minister of Italy. The Baron Ricasoli has announced, in words not to be mistaken, that his policy is the policy of Cavour, and that he is resolved that by just and legal means Italy shall be united and free, with Rome for her capital, and with Venice delivered from the rule of the stranger. His success must depend upon the Italians themselves. By gathering around him, forgetful of their jealousies and resolute in rejecting the counsels of rash and violent men, they may enable him to finish the work confided to him. They will thus best show their love for the great man who has passed away, and will raise the noblest monument to his memory.. ART. VIII.-1. The Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events, 1860-61.* Edited by Frank Moore. London, 1861. 2. Causes of the Civil War in America. By John Lothrop Motley, LL.D. London, 1861. 3. Considerations on Representative Government. By J. S. Mill. London, 1861. THE HE American secession is a subject which every organ of public feeling in this country approaches with reluctance. The House of Commons will not even suffer it to be debated, and the newspapers touch on it with a hesitating delicacy which they have never shown to our oldest allies or our most dreaded enemies. The catastrophe is too fresh, too sudden, too terrible in its consequences to permit Englishmen now to remember any of the small annoyances which in past times American pretensions or antagonism may have caused. We are never backward in showing sympathies for the calamities of our fellow-men, of whatever race or climate. But America has special claims on us * It is perhaps necessary to premise that throughout we use the words 'Democracy' and 'Democratic' in their European, not their American, sense. In Europe the word Democracy means the absolute government of the numerical majority. In America the word has given a name to a political party, and, like the word 'Whig,' has consequently entirely drifted away from its earlier meaning. The so-called 'Democratic party in America is that which is now stoutly resisting the absolutism of the numerical majority... which are shared by no other country in the world. Syria and Poland have been, during the last year, the theatres on which anarchy has played her mad and bloody pranks. Italy has been checked in her splendid struggle to emerge from the degradation of centuries by the loss of the hero-statesman whom not she only but all the world has mourned. For these sorrows England's sympathies have been heartfelt and abundant, and not limited to words alone. How much more freely, then, should they flow for the calamities of a people who are our kinsmen by blood, who speak the same tongue and inherit the glories of a common literature, and among whom the same traditions, though sadly maimed, are held in honour! In the presence of their great calamity we have no heart to recollect that they have been competitors as well as kinsmen. We will not even dwell too critically on the rude ingratitude with which the good wishes and good offices of England have been received. We have strained to the uttermost the latitude allowed by international law in giving to our neutrality a bias favourable to all that remains of the Republic that was once our rival. We can only lament it as a sad evidence of their extreme distress that they should have expected us to go farther. That they, the advanced guard of liberty, can be asking us to adopt in their case the scouted policy of Laybach and Troppau, and to intervene for the purpose of bringing back their revolted subjects under their yoke, only proves how far men in the agony of extreme danger will drift from the principles which in calmer moments they have held up as sacred. But this is not a time to judge too harshly their violence or their errors. It is their first great national grief, their first experience of the vanity of boasting. War in its grimmest form-civil and servile war-hangs over them, and the exasperation of the contest is not likely to modify the hectoring tone which has always characterized their diplomacy. It is impossible not to feel for them in their novel position as the assertors of legitimacy against revolution. We must accept their irritability as one of the inevitable consequences of a terrible calamity and a false position. When the calamity has passed and the false position is rectified, we do not doubt that they will applaud the dignity, the self-restraint, and the true friendliness that have marked the course of England. Whatever reproaches, however, in this moment of national delirium they may address to us, cannot lessen the sorrow with which we regard the sufferings of a people so admirable for their independence and their courage, and so closely bound to our own. But though these are the emotions which will be first awakened in every English mind by the events that are passing in America, reflections reflections of a different character must mingle with them and follow them. We cannot help reasoning upon those calamities, as well as sorrowing over them. No one can see so mighty a ruin so suddenly achieved without speculating upon the causes of decay. A bereaved family look upon a surgeon as very hardhearted if he wishes to dissect a patient who has just died of some obscure disease; and in the same way the Americans may think it pitiless of us to philosophize over the coffin in which their beloved Union lies. But public writers, in the investigation of political science, must study the pathology of republics as of empires. However painful may be the subjects of which they have to treat, it is their function to gather warnings for the future from the failures of the past; to correct out of the narrative of each new wreck the chart of political navigation. But, if this is our duty in every case, it is specially so in the instance before us. The Americans have been something more to us than relatives or rivals. They have been conductors of a great experiment, ostentatiously set up in the face of all the world, designed to teach the nations wisdom, and to confute the prejudices of old times. They have told us that the old machinery of graduated conditions and balanced power is but useless and costly gear, working only for the benefit of the few, humiliating and impoverishing the many. They patented a cheap and ingenious mechanism of government, never tried before for anything like an extensive territory, which should neither wound the people's vanity by a subordination of ranks nor trench upon their means for the support of a ceremonious court. For a time the experiment succeeded. There was no question as to some of the advantages that attended it. The govern The ment was cheap and free from debt, the taxes were light, emigrants poured in from Europe, and the increase and prosperity of the new country under its new form of government were beyond anything that the history of the world could parallel. example was not lost upon the populations of the old world. The effect of the American Revolution upon European thought has hardly been sufficiently recognised. It did not create democratic theories, for they had long before been hatched in the brains of philosophers, but it popularised them. Ever since the revival of letters they had been in some form or other familiar to abstract reasoners. They had been generated in a great degree by the passionate idolatry of classical examples that was then in fashion, and they were fostered by the form of Church polity which the Puritans were driven by stress of circumstances to assume. Philosophers inherited them. Sydney, Locke, and Milton were deeply infected by them. But they remained matters of speculation, not of practice. The |