more subtle and abstract rights of birth, descent, or legal investiture. He, consequently, who does not enjoy these accidents, visibly, openly, and in the full plenitude of imposing state, enjoys the right, only so long as he can preserve the

occupancy.

We are about to have a cheap coronation-a sort of half-price coronation— done upon the lowest possible terms, by Messrs. Grey, Brougham, Holland, and Co. There are to be I know not how many thousand pounds saved; and our huckstering reformers, our pedler-patriots, snuff up the wind, like wild asses in the wilderness," and think the Millennium is at hand! Never was there such a wise ministry-never such a careful, and considerate, and magnanimous king!

cost

But to whom is the money saved? Suppose a whole coronation to 300,000/., and a bit of one only 100,000/ Who saves the 200,000l. ?-Do the people? Not a farthing of it. Unless I am told, what no one will have the impudence to tell me, that a specific coronation tax would be imposed, to defray the specific charge of the coronation itself, I have yet to learn how the people are benefited by having only a hundred thousand pounds spent among them, instead of three hundred thousand. Really, one would imagine, to hear how some simpletons chuckle over this economical coronation, that all the money which is not to be spent, would, if spent, find its way, by some devilry or other, to the bottom of the Thames, instead of into the pockets of the hundreds and thousands of persons whose industry, labour, time, and talent, would be put into requisition.

This is not all, however. If the state disbursed three hundred thousand pounds, the nobility and wealthy commoners of the state would have to disburse nearly double that sum, as was actually the case at the coronation of George IV. It is impossible to calculate through what myriads of subordinate channels money flows on such an occasion. It is not merely the outlay of dukes, marquises, earls, and barons, in their own persons, and in the persons of their mothers, wives, daughters, and sons, that is to be looked at. It is not merely the streams of wealth that flow in every direction, from those who are

entitled by birth or station to assist at the august ceremony. We must take into account, likewise, the money spent by the thousands who are SPECTATORS of it, from those who equip themselves in a court-dress to make their appearance in Westminster Hall and the Abbey, to those who pay their three guineas, their two guineas, their one guinea, their ten shillings, and their five shillings, for seats in the open air.

And pray who saves all this money The answer is obvious. But who would get it if it were NOT saved? The silly dolts-the thick-skulled rabble-they who are emitting a vast quantity of noisome breath in praise of the men who prevent it from being spent! Oh, they are wise gentlemen, this same people!

Thus much for the pounds, shillings, and pence-the beggarly, chandler-shop part of the question: but there are other considerations connected with it, and of far deeper concern.

A king should be "every inch a king;" for every inch that he is not, goes imperceptibly, but unerringly, to unking him. He is not to consider what his humour likes, but what his duty requires; the duty of transmitting, to those who are to come after him, the trust he exercises, in the same unimpaired condition that he received it; and he offends against this duty when he abates the smallest particle of the rights and prerogatives belonging to his office; because he does not know that his successor may choose to do the same; and consequently, it may happen, he prepares for him an invidious and ungracious labour, to recover what had been cast away, for the sake, perhaps, of a little vulgar popularity. He further offends against this duty, because he cannot so act without, pro tanto, bringing into jeopardy the office itself.

It is a shallow species of declamation to descant upon the childishness and frivolity of pomp and parade, and the gewgaws of authority; to ridicule the emptiness of vain ceremonies; to speak with disdain of the tinsel glitter of idle shows and processions. Nothing so easy as all this; and nothing more true-if all men were philosophers. But so long as men are what they are-" pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw"-so long as opinion rides upon the neck of reason, and we are caught by the out

sides of the things of this world, they who affect to treat with undue contempt the influence of our "straws and rattles,' are incomparably greater fools, if they be sincere, than they who yield to it.

It is quite true a lord chancellor might walk down to Westminster Hall in a threadbare coat, darned stockings, dirty shoes, and dirtier face, and give judgments across a three shilling wooden table, as luminous, profound, just, and eloquent, as ever fell from the lips of man. The House of Lords might meet in Copenhagen-fields, and the Commons upon Hampstead-heath, and the national affairs be admirably managed by them. The Archbishop of Canterbury might preach sublime theology at the Crown and Anchor tavern; and his Majesty hold a Chapter of the Garter in a first floor in Piccadilly. There is nothing to prevent these, and a multitude of other absurdities from being committed, save the conviction that my lord chancellor's judgments, the parliament's deliberations, the archbishop's doctrines, and the king's dignity, are all heightened and enforced by the ceremonies and solemnities by which they are actually surrounded. These ceremonies and solemnities impart no intrinsic value to the things to which they belong; but they command, by their external influence, respect, attention, and obedi

ence.

I would apply this reasoning to the approaching half-price coronation, with its mutilated rites and frugal magnificence. If the nation be too poor to defray the expense of a monarchy-if we can neither crown our kings, nor fit out our queens, as our forefathers did-if, like an impoverished individual, we find ourselves compelled to contract our expenditure-let us do it with an honest and manly simplicity of purpose, confess we are on the verge of bankruptcy, and appeal, for the honesty of our intentions, to the timely curtailing of our establishments. But do not let us play the proud beggar, who will still drink his wine, eat his venison, and drive his

equipage, by making one bottle, one haunch, and one carriage, do the work of many.

It is not pretended, however, that necessity drives us to these paltry shifts, these mendicant contrivances. The merit claimed is that of supererogatory thrift. It is the miser's avarice, the sordid money-getter's principle, that a penny saved is a penny got-that every pound not spent is a symbol of careful husbandry, though there is no better use for what is saved, than that from which it is taken. It is all done in the spirit of a muckworm, who hoards the dross he wants the soul to part with.

Far be it from me to impute to those who have counselled, or to those who approve, of this pitiful mode of carrying on the monarchy, the desire to weaken its foundations. But suppose there were a set of men in the country who did seek such an object; and suppose they were consulting among themselves upon the best way of accomplishing it; methinks, were there one who better understood the business in hand than the rest, he would say, "Begin your work thus: Persuade your victim to make himself a king of the mob-exhibiting in all his tastes, feelings, and inclinations, an ambition to be a frank, free-and-easy sovereign. This will wean from him the loyalty and devotion of a proud, high-minded, and illustrious aristocracy, to whom the want of a certain degree of refinement, and an elevated royalty of character, is sufficient to cool at least their personal attachments. Then persuade him to curtail his own state and dignity; encourage him, in all things, to prefer what costs half a crown to that which costs a crown; lead him gently on to show his people how cheap they can have a king; and when they perfectly understand this, there will be no difficulty in making them understand that it is cheaper still to have no king.”

WILLIAM.

Honoré, and for trees to offer more graceful compositions for suspension, than could be afforded by the "Gallows" arbours of the Feuillans.

I had never great reason to be fond of my own species, and least of all such as inhabit a winter metropolis. When the leaves had fallen in the Champs Elysées, and the solitary impertinence of the sparrows became insupportable in the Tuileries, I resorted every day to the Jardin des Plantes to refresh my sight with the cypresses and oranges in the conservatory, and converse with the graceful Ladycranes, the good-humoured Marmosettes, and the honest Bruinæ, much more friendly to me than the bears of Galignani's, and the apes and Demoiseaur of the Palais Royal.

in a

At that season, when the slender and beautiful Eigrette moped upon one leg corner of her aviary, and the Ostriches-Monsieur et Madame-only appeared during a blink of the frosty sun at noon, to trot their daggled plumes once or twice round their parterre my most agreeable acquaintance were among the inhabitants of the "beargarden." There were several sociable sonsy fat brown Bruins of various ages and sizes; and when the inhabitants of warmer climates grew languid and disconsolate, these hardy goths acquired fresh spirits, and routed, tumbled, and gamboled over head and heels in the snow, with as much apparent enjoyment, and almost as much grace, as -'s infant cupids on a crimson velvet cushion.-I almost wished that I too were a bear, that I might forget that the snow was not as white on the pavement of the Rue Castiglione as on the shealing of Brae Morrai.-Martin did not think about it; or if he did, two or three chestnuts afforded him consola

one of

tion.

It used to delight me to watch the little French girls-when their noses were as blue as a sloe, and not much larger-still leaning over the snowy rails, and conversing indefatigably with my shaggy friends, who understood them very well, and though less audibly and volubly, maintained an animated coquetry. On the last evening of my

stay in Paris I went to pay my adieus to my old cater-cousins. The sun was near set, and banished by the sharpness of the cold, I found no other visitors but a pretty little rosy-cheeked Rouenaise, who notwithstanding the frost, and that she had no other head gear than the thin cold pyramid of starched muslin, which looked as if frozen in the attitude in which it had been lifted from the wash-tub, continued delightedly coquetting with the devotions of her new admirers.

At the moment of my arrival she was engaged in the cultivation of a serious elderly bear who regarded her with great attention-" Tourne-Tourne-donc !" said she-and as Martin reared up his vast mass of fur and performed his pirouette with a weary and longing leer-" Eh qu'il est bon! ce bête!" exclaimed the delighted little bourgeoise-" Si mon mari était s'amiable !"—and she dropped the chestnut. The bear fumbled it up with his soft, muff of a nose, and several of his companions began to mumble and turn and leer to their pretty benefactress, with submissive solicitation.

There was, however, one poor old brown bear, who was either too proud or too far advanced in years to profit by education; he had not yet learned to turn or stand alone, and while his companions received each a largess, he sat upright in a corner with his back supported against the walls-" Eh bien, tourne donc !"-exclaimed the impatient little Rouenaise as she suddenly noticed him. A chestnut was exhibited between the prettiest little forefinger and thumb that ever was seen; but Bruin still sat immovable in his corner, leering and watering at the mouth, and occasionally emitting a grumble of solicitation-"Ah le voilà mon mari!" exclaimed the Norman wife," il ne fait pas jamais ce que je desire!"-and suddenly tossing the chestnut to a lively little tawny Savoyard who was capering in another corner, she jumped from the rail and ran down the alley." That happens in other things than chestnuts," thought I, and cast an involuntary look of sympathy on forsaken Bruin. My poor old friend still