Mr. Perowne complains of the pain which I have produced in him, by what I have said “about love and union.” “Such things,” says he “_painfully_ remind us of the days of Charles the first.” This Charles, it will be remembered, as the “head of the church,” in his days, and “out of a like _pious care for the service of God_, as had his blessed father,” published the “Book of Sports,” which authorized the people to amuse themselves with all sorts of games, &c. on the Lord’s day, and which the clergy read to their congregations after divine service. I have no wish, however, to mention “Charles the first” to any man of acute sensibility, and I was not aware that my recommendation of “love and union” would remind any one of that ill-fated monarch. Mr. Perowne’s peculiar sensibility on this subject, and the remarkable fact that, in writing a pamphlet on Infant Schools, he should twice refer to “Charles the first,” and “our martyred Charles,” is calculated to excite strange suspicions in the mind of a believer in the doctrine of metempsychosis. Why should _Mr. Perowne_ feel pain when he is reminded of “Charles the first?” or why should “love and union” remind him of “our martyred Charles” at all, except on the principle of the Bramins, that “we should never kill a flea, lest we inflict _pain_ on the soul of some of our ancestors.” It is true that Charles frequently boasted that he was “a true son of the church.” It is true that Charles entertained the very same feelings against Puritans, as Mr. Perowne does against Dissenters. It is true that some of the sentiments in Mr. P’s. pamphlet are as precisely _Icôn Basilikè_ as if they had been dictated by the soul of the headless monarch. It is true, as Bishop Burnet says, that Charles the first “loved high and rough measures, but had neither skill to conduct them, nor height of genius to manage them. _He hated all that offered prudent and moderate counsels_; and, even when it was necessary to follow such advices, he hated those that gave them.” It is true—but, to use Mr. Perowne’s language, “I forbear to finish a picture so painful to contemplate,” and shall only add, that David Hume, in his history of England, states that the last word the king said, was, “REMEMBER”—and that “_great mysteries_ were supposed to be concealed under that expression.”