Harper's New Monthly Magazine, No. XXIII.—April, 1852.—Vol. IV.: NoneVarious
General
Harper's New Monthly Magazine, No. XXIII.—April, 1852.—Vol. IV.: None
Various
American literature -- Periodicals; Civilization -- Periodicals; Culture -- Periodicals
With the exception of the Jacobins all parties were strongly in favor of
this revolution. For ten years the people had been so accustomed to the
violation of the laws, that they had ceased to condemn such acts, and
judged of them only by their consequences. All over France the feeling
was nearly universal in favor of the new government. Says Alison, who
surely will not be accused of regarding Napoleon with a partial eye,
"Napoleon rivaled Cæsar in the clemency with which he used his victory.
No proscriptions or massacres, few arrests or imprisonments followed the
triumph of order over revolution. On the contrary, numerous acts of
mercy, as wise as they were magnanimous, illustrated the rise of the
consular throne. The elevation of Napoleon was not only unstained by
blood, but not even a single captive long lamented the ear of the
victor. A signal triumph of the principles of humanity over those of
cruelty, glorious alike to the actors and the age in which it occurred;
and a memorable proof how much more durable are the victories obtained
by moderation and wisdom, than those achieved by violence and stained by
blood."
PARADISE LOST.
My knapsack was on my shoulder.--So said Armand, a young artist, when a
little company of us were sitting together the other evening.--
My knapsack was on my shoulder, my ashen stick in hand; three leagues of
dusty road had whitened me like a miller. Whence I came, whither I was
going--what matters it? I was not twenty years of age. My starting
point, therefore, was home; my goal was Paradise--any earthly Paradise I
could find. The country was not particularly picturesque; and the
weather was very hot. Great undulations of harvest-laden fields rolled
irregularly on all sides. Here was a hamlet; there a solitary
farm-house; yonder a wood; on each eminence a windmill. Some peasants
that were in the fields sang; and the birds chirped at them as if in
mockery. One or two wagons, dragged by oxen and horses, slowly moved
along the tree-bordered road. I sat down on a heap of stones. A wagoner
gruffly asked me if I was tired, and offered me "a lift." I accepted;
and soon I was stretched where dung had been; jolted into an uneasy
half-slumber, not without its charm, with the bells of the lazy team
softly jingling in my ears, until I thought fifty silver voices were
calling me away to a home that must be bright, and a land that must be
beautiful.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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