"The night was tranquil; but at day-break Adam was awakened by the sobs of his wife. It is then true,' said they, looking around, it is then true; we are banished from Eden-we have fallen, alas! from our state of innocence.' They rose-again they looked at the scene before them-they wished to commence the labours of the day, and they had not courage to do so. Adam tried to soothe his companion, again to re-animate her soul with hope; but his pale cheeks, his quivering lips, his faltering voice, exposed what was passing in his breast, and shewed that the sentiments of his lips were far, far removed from the thoughts of his heart.

"Meanwhile they sought for roots and wild herbs to support exhausted nature. But here the trees were not clothed with that tender greenness which formed so fresh, so beautiful a feature of Eden reveling in everlasting spring. The foliage of the forest turned day by day of a more sombre hue: even that was soon exchanged for the pale yellow dye of departing autumn. Already did the exiles hear the hurried rustle of the leaves, as the wind swept them along the ground. Eve, in gathering an apple, tore off by chance the frail bough which supported, and the dry leaves which surrounded it. See,' said she, trembling, to Adam, and pointing to the withered scene around, see! in gathering an apple have I stripped the earth of its fairest ornaments.'

"Yet,' replied Adam, all trees have not faded away; look at the orange-tree, the holly, and the laurel: see how the cedar and the pine of the mountain still tower above the forest, covered with their rich, though gloomy foliage-the simple ivy creeping over our rocky dwelling still rejoiceth us, as we rise from slumber, with its dark-green leaves-and even the drooping branches of the willow beside the brook preserve still fresh the greater part of their covering.'

"But the time came, when the favourite weeping willow lost its pale foliage too. What then was the grief, the hopelessness, that sickened the hearts of our first parents! The flowers-the trees, which were like companions in their exile, were all faded, or fast fading away, leaving them solitary an dhelpless beings, amid bleakness and desolation; and they expected soon to see the orange, the laurel, and the pine, despoiled also of their covering. Adam, however, in obedience to the angel, sowed towards the south the grains he had received from Paradise; but this duty he performed more with the passiveness of despair than the light exultations of hope.

"Some days after he is filled with astonishment and joy, at seeing a tender braird peeping above the soil of the first field laboured by man.

"Thus did the two spouses pass their first winter, taking charge of a little flock, and with pain and difficulty seeking sustenance for themselves. In dreams were they taught the elements of the

first arts necessary for life. It was thus they learned to find in the flint and wood the source of fire, by which they were warmed and cheered that Adam was instructed to fashion the bow for preserving his flock from the wolves. It was thus that the lovely Eve was taught to load the distaff with the soft wool of her lambs.

"One day Adam having uprooted a tree, was about to cleave it into billets. A sharp flint served him for a wedge, a large stone for a mace. Eve approaches him, holding in her hand a basket filled with roots and the produce of her rude dairy. She wipes the moisture from his burning brow with the sweet-scented leaves of the orange tree, and soothingly allures him to take a little nourishment-a little repose. He seats himself on the trunk of the tree: Eve is about to place herself beside him, but suddenly she exclaims, 'Adam! hast thou sown here too the grains of paradise? See-see how their verdure shews itself in the midst of that withered-up spot, like the sun rising to the world after a long and stormy night!' "No,' said Adam, 'I have sown nothing here; what thou perceivest must be new grass.' It had grown in little tufts, under the shelter of the tree which Adam had recently struck down. Joy flushed the cheeks of his spouse; and throwing herself with rapture into his arms, she exclaimed, Adam, God hath blessed thy labour-the sweat of thy brow hath moistened the earth as the dew of heaven; and the kindness of the Most High hath fertilized it like the rays of the sun.'

"Adam reflected a moment. Eve,' said he, we have been blinded by grief. For some days past I have seen the banks of the rivulet clothed with fresh verdure, but my cast-down soul heeded not what I saw. Thy discovery, Eve, hath vanquished my doubts.' Rising, they went onwards, sometimes embracing, sometimes stopping to look at the quickening scene around them;—suddenly they hear a noise-they turned back-a young ram was struggling in vain to extricate his horns fastened in a thick tuft of the pliant cornel: it had been allured by the young shoots of that tree, its yellow flowers, and the buds already green of the cytisus. Adam disengaged it, and it bounded away to its flock. Eve sat down on the renovated turf: Adam sat down beside her-the hearts of both were bursting with joy, and with gratitude they offered up their prayer to heaven; for they had seen the young buds of the cypress -they had perceived, for the first time, the yellow flowers of the cornel-tree. Icy winter was melting away, and flowers, fair as the morning, were again visiting the earth. They ran to the bower near their grotto-it was bursting into verdure; the willow was covered with buds, and all around was variegated and enlivened by the flowers of the wood-anemone and the primrose.

"From this time every day came to them loaded with new flowers, with new verdure. If perchance their hearts were at times

puffed up with vain pride at this seeming return of the days of paradise, their cheeks were soon suffused with the blush of shame and repentance-a blush which mounted up to heaven, the place whence it had come. Then the recollection of the days of their innocence humbled their souls to the dust; again they felt themselves solitary, insignificant strangers on the face of the earth, whose only wisdom was foresight-whose only happiness was hope.

Already were the trees half-clothed with a foliage of the softest green; already those destined to furnish food to the exiled pair were covered with a snow of rich blossoms;-the sweetness of their odour perfumed all around, and seemed as incense offered to the Deity for the return of genial spring.

"One fine evening, after the labour of the day, they sat themselves down at the foot of a palm-tree which grew near their rural abode. The evening-star was glancing through the branches lightly waving in the wind. The clear moon shone high in the cloudless heavens, and reflected in the babbling brook, seemed to tremble on the pure bosom of the water. Adam rises, urged by a feeling of which he knew not the cause, and softly disengages himself from the unwilling arms of his spouse: receding from her sight, he disappears in a grove of flowering pomegranates and almonds, loaded with their fruit.

"Soon however, he returned, holding a handful of the first ears of corn. He shews them exultingly to his companion. 'See!' said he, 'the seed of Eden has been fruitful even in the vally of tears!'

"Every thing around them was in harmony with the sweet pensiveness that possessed their hearts. All nature was calm—their minds were calm likewise. Suddenly that sublime silence is interrupted-from the bosom of the weeping willow the nightingale pours fourth her notes of melody. The first song of the nightingale breathed a spirit of joy over the earth. Tears, but they were tears of gratitude and joy, trickled down the cheeks of Adam and Eve. The notes of the winged songster reached the bottom of their heart. Unable to speak, they fall weeping into each other's arms; then, kneeling, they adore in silence the goodness and mercy of their God, who had breathed consolation and hope to their sinful soulswho had converted the wilderness around to a paradise worthy of the blessed."

G. H.

ON THE HISTORY OF THE middle ages-NO. 1.*

Grandeur and Weakness of the Roman Empire.

*

AMONG the studies calculated to elevate the heart. and to enlighten the understanding, there are few more important than his

The Editor has to thank the celebrated SISMONDI for honouring his Journal with this communication.

tory, when it is considered not as a mere nomenclature of facts, persons, and dates, but as an essential portion of the grand system of political and moral science, as the depository of all the experience which tends to elucidate the theory of public welfare.

Society is natural to man; it is a necessary consequence of his inability to counteract, by his single efforts, the afflictions and dan gers with which he is continually surrounded. He unit s with his fellow-men to obtain and to offer mutual assistance. He seeks protection against the infirmities of childhood, old age, and sickness. He wishes, in common with his fellow-creatures to repel the hostile powers of nature, to aid the efforts which each may make for his own welfare, and the preservation of his peace; for the protection of the property he has obtained, the repose he has secured to himself, and the use he makes of that repose for the developement of his moral being. Two very distinct objects present themselves to man as soon as ever he is capable of reflecting; first, his satisfaction with the faculties with which he feels himself endowed; and next, the improvement of those faculties, or his progress towards a superior condition. He not only wishes to be happy; he also wishes to render himself worthy to enjoy a more exalted kind of felicity. Happiness and virtue are the twofold objects, first of the individual efforts, and next to the combined efforts of man. In his family, in his class, in his country, he seeks the means of effecting this double advantage; and no state of society completely fulfils his wishes, unless it facilitate both the one and the other.

The theory of society-that theory of universal accommodation, has sometimes been designated by the name of social science, and sometimes ranked in the class of the political and moral sciences. When considered as a whole, social science embraces all that human society can effect for the general advantage and the moral developement of man; when considered in its ramifications, we must rank among the political and moral sciences, constitutive politics, legislation, administration, political economy, the art of war or national defence, the science of education, and finally, the most important of all sciences, the moral instruction of man. With all these sciences, which are in part speculative, history is continnally combined; it forms their experimental part, and is the common register of the experience of all these sciences.

I am aware that the very name of politics frequently excites unpleasing recollections, and that many persons regard with a degree of horror, the study of a science, which is in their opinion more remarkable for the enmity to which it has given rise than for the good it has produced. But, ere we pronounce our aversion to political science, we must consider that to do so would be to contemn the happiness, the knowledge, and the virtues of mankind.

The question is, on the one hand, to ascertain how the knowledge. of a few can be best applied to the interest of all, how virtue can be best honoured, how vice can be best discouraged, how crimes can be most eff ctually prevented, and how the greatest social good can be obtained with the least degree of evil. On the other hand, it is to be ascartained how wealth is accumulated and distributed, how the physical advantages which that wealth procures may be dispersed among the greatest possible number of individuals, and how it may best contribute to their enjoyments. The subject also embraces public comfort, domestic comfort, and the happiness of the interior of families. After casting a glance on the various subject which the science of politics includes, who will say that he detests or despises it?

But does this science, so important in its object, so intimately connected with all that is most noble in the destination of man, always fulfil the end to which its efforts are directed? Can its principles be henceforward immutably fixed? It must be acknowledged that they cannot. The social science is separated into numerous branches, each of which is amply sufficient to occupy the life of the most studious man. But in all these various branches rival sects have risen up, and they assail each other respecting the very principles of their systems. In speculative politics the independent and servile dispute about the fundamental basis of all society; and in legislation, the schools of law have manifested no less opposition to each other. In political economy, contradictory doctrines are professed with similar warmth, relative to the very basis of the science, and we are tempted to inquire whether the increase of production and population be always a blessing, and whether it be not sometimes an evil. In the theory of education, disputes arise respecting the means of diffusing knowledge, on the advantage of knowledge itself, and there are men who recommend ignorance as the guardian of the virtue and happiness of the people. Religion, which, when it fulfils its object, is the noblest, the most benign, and the most consolatory of social sciences, is likewise the most subject to controversy; and hostile sects have converted the domain of love into the arena of combat. The principles of all parts of social science were perhaps never so much appealed to as during the present age. Never were principles more disavowed, and never was it more impossible to point out a single one which had obtained universal concurrence.

It is not so with the other branches of human knowledge. The physical facts, and the first principles that flow from them are universally acknowledged and confirmed. In the natural sciences we proceed from proof to proof, and if doubts occasionally arise respecting an explanatory theory which may have been long adopted, still the great portion of discovery is beyond the reach of denial.