almost unanimity. The Pope must be desecularized, and he must still be the Bishop of Rome. He must cease to be a temporal sovereign, but he must reside in the capital of his old sovereignty. He must lay down his princely power, but he must continue to occupy his princely palaces. A more difficult arrangement could scarcely be conceived. That he should in future be restricted to his spiritual functions, as head of the great ecclesiastical hierarchy, is desired by statesmen and religious men alike.. Earnest and sincere catholics feel that his authority would become at once loftier, purer, stronger, for the change, that his action would be freer, his motives holier and simpler, and his decisions more influential, because less open to question or suspicion. Philosophical politicians see clearly that, in an age and in a land of constitutional freedom and parliamentary institutions, an infallible earthly potentate can have no place or function, and that a government dictated by the interests and moulded by the wishes of the people cannot be administered by a monarch supposed to draw his inspirations from above, claiming to be guided by supernal wisdom, and owning allegiance to a far different authority than that of elected chambers or national volition. Neither the Swiss nor the British form of freedom and self-rule can be grafted on to a Theocracy. Practical statesmen, too, have had experience enough of the evils and perplexities involved in the existence of a principality to which independence is at once essential and unattainable; and are weary of a government so inherently weak that it cannot maintain itself, yet so incurably bad that it cannot with justice or with decency be maintained by others. The thirteen years which have elapsed between 1847 and 1860 have opened many eyes.

It seems evident, then, that his Holiness must be at once compressed and elevated into a spiritual potentate. It seems almost equally evident, that when this process is accomplished his residence must still be Rome. Not only ought he to be there, but there seem to be nearly insurmountable difficulties in the way of conceiving him or establishing him elsewhere. He is Bishop of Rome; he is the head and incarnation of the Roman Church; the Vatican, the palace of his court, the place whence are dated his decrees, is within the walls of Rome; St. Peter's, the great basilica of universal Catholicism, the common shrine of the faithful, is the modern gem and wonder of the Eternal City. How could the Pope quit all these noble and distinctive possessions? What would he be - how would he feel— what hold would he retain over the devout and imaginative mind of Catholic Europe, if severed from all these endearing and im

posing associations? Again, whither could he be transferred where he would not become, virtually at least, the subject of some European sovereign, where he would not be, or be believed to be, a dependent and perhaps a tool-most probably by the monarch who gave him an asylum-certainly by that monarch's enemies and rivals ?

The Pope, then, must remain at Rome, and he must be neither a subject nor a sovereign. He must govern no temporal people, and he must obey no temporal prince. We may see at a glance how the difficulty of his residence at Rome and the anomalous nature of his position there would be aggravated by Rome becoming the capital of the new kingdom. The Pope might indeed have St. Peter's and the district round the Vatican as a sort of sacred precinct or sanctuary, over which he should have absolute control, and with which the civil power should not be allowed to interfere; but it is difficult to see how two such mutually independent jurisdictions could practically subsist side by side. A law forbidding asylum to criminals and fugitives might be enacted, but could hardly be enforced without daily collisions and disputes. Either the Pope must have no subjects (that is, no residents) but ecclesiastical ones, or his lay dependents, with a contrast and a refuge so close at hand, would be little patient under his clumsy oppressive rule. Moreover, how could two courts exist together with their respective pageants and palaces in sight? the one, too, sore and sad with all the bitterness of faded splendour and decimated power, the other prompt to assert and jealous to maintain its new authority, smarting under the memory of ancient wrongs, and insolent with the conscious claims of recent emancipation; the conqueror and the conquered seated on their several thrones-and both thrones set up in the heart of the conquered city. All these difficulties might be greatly smoothed down, if not removed, were Florence selected as the seat of government. Rome might then be made a free city, with institutions like those of Hamburg, Lubeck, and Frankfort - modified to meet the peculiarities of the case. The administration might be in the hands of a lay municipality; and the Pope-as seems but just, seeing that so large a proportion of the citizens must consist of ecclesiastics might have a partial veto on the election of the chief magistrate and the judges, by having, on each vacancy, the choice between three candidates submitted to him for approval. Under a well-organised arrangement of this kind the city might be well governed, and the Papal court as splendid and as gorgeous as it pleased. As for the financial resources of the Papacy, relieved from the burdens of civil and military admit

nistration, if the Catholic world desires to maintain a Pope, the Catholic world is numerous and wealthy enough to maintain him in becoming splendour.

That this would be the wisest and smoothest solution of the problem we can entertain no doubt. But the sentiment of the Italians, however unreasoning, is, we fear, far too strong and too unanimous to leave much hope of its adoption. They have an unhealthy feeling, which writers, orators, demagogues, and even statesmen, have contributed to foster, that Rome contains the idea and the soul of Italy, and that without Rome as their centre they will never be a great people. The fancy of proclaiming unity from the Capitol,' of discussing European questions in 'the Forum,' seems to have a fascination for them which is not of hopeful augury for their political maturity or practical manliness of mind. But so it is. The claims of Rome, we are told, will silence all other aspirants. Every city in the land will bow to the claims of Rome, but every city would contest the claims of every other proposed metropolis. In the last Session, Count Cavour, who represents Turin in the Sardinian Parliament, announced that Rome was to be the future capital of the amalgamated monarchy, and not one of his constituents uttered a word of remonstrance. Those who are best acquainted with the state of feeling there, assure us that had he upheld the claims of Turin, he would have been coldly received even by the Piedmontese, and that had he ventured to suggest Florence, he would indisputably have forfeited his re-election. The difficulties we have endeavoured to explain, therefore, must be met, and the obstacles must be overcome, in the best mode that sagacious politicians can devise. In any attempt to solve the Papal problem we encounter the most embarrassing perplexities: our only choice lies between schemes, some one of which must be adopted, but all of which are open to grave and undeniable objections. Our comfort lies in the plain and notorious truth that the problem must be solved, and that no solution can be so imperfect, so full of mischief and danger, and so essentially and avowedly transient, as the maintenance of the Pope in a provisional existence, with a diminished territory, and behind the bayonets of France.

We need only add one or two words in conclusion, as to the other great pending embarrassment of the Italian question. The sooner the cession of Venetia, for a fair and honourable equivalent, can be completed, the better will it be for Europe, for Austria, and perhaps (though as we have seen not quite in all respects so certainly) for Italy likewise. Europe can hope for little steady tranquillity so long as an irritation like that lies open,

which cannot be cut out of the body politic, and can be healed in no way but one. It is, moreover, a wound which spreads and a peril which augments with every hour. No statesman, insular or continental, liberal or despotic, can be blind to the imminent convulsion and confusion, if not the ultimate mischief, which is preparing in the east of Europe among the Hungarian and southern Sclavonic populations. If something in the way of amicable prevention be not done, and done speedily, we shall see almost certainly before the year is over the outbreak of a war of singular virulence and complication. The safety of Turkey, the ambition of Russia, the existence of Austria, will all be compromised in the strife. If the principle of non-intervention be rigidly enforced, the case will be difficult and hazardous enough. If that principle be violated, and the conflicting-or the coinciding-arms of France and Russia once come upon the stage, who can foresee the issue, or the end? The forcible retention, or rather the military occupation, of Venetia by Austria is to no one more fatal than to Austria herself. It is still the doctrine of European diplomatists that a powerful empire is needed for European interests in the geographical position now occupied by Austria:-but Austria, as long as she clings to Venetia, cannot be that empire cannot fulfil that necessity cannot discharge those functions. The finances of Austria are in a desperate state: her first obligation, the very indispensable condition of her existence, is to restore those finances. Ruin stares her in the face: if she insist on retaining Venetia, that ruin is consummated; if she consent to cede it, that ruin is averted. The harsh severity of her rule in her Italian dependencies, and the partial cruelty with which the fiscal burdens of her subjects there are apportioned and exacted, in comparison with the other provinces of the empire (the per centage being nearly double), have operated to the injury of Austria in a two-fold manner :-in the first place, they have given her a bad name in Europe, perhaps even worse than she deserves, and have alienated from her the sympathies of humane and liberal men throughout the world; and in the second place, they have trained her officials, both military and bureaucratic, to habits of insolence and oppression, which accompany them when transferred elsewhere, and create in the citizens on whom they are exercised, that irritation and dislike of the government which is fast spreading even to those provinces which used to be comparatively placid and contented. Lombardy and Venetia have demoralised the whole body of Austrian functionaries; both for the sake of quiet and of character she would do well to relieve herself from the cause of

the infection. We believe that she might cede her Italian dependencies with safety and with credit; we are sure she cannot keep them with either. She will not be the first great Power that has surrendered territory at the dictate of policy, and with a profitable result. England ceded a continent in 1783, and France sold a province (Louisiana) in 1803, and neither Power has ever repented the transaction.

Amongst the signs of the times which appear to mark out the year on which we have just entered as an epoch of impor tant changes in either hemisphere, there is none that we hail with more satisfaction than the radical alteration which appears to be in progress in the councils and policy of the Court of Vienna. If it be true that the determination to restore the constitution of Hungary on the basis of 1848 and to shake off the fetters of the Concordat is already taken, two most important steps are made. A third remains, which by the cession of Venetia on amicable terms would complete the structure of the Kingdom of Italy, remove a constant source of weakness and dissension, enable Austria and all the other Powers to reduce their military establishments, and give the best pledge of peace to Europe.

ART. X.- Admiralty Administration; its Faults and its Defaults. 8vo. London: 1861.

6

A MODERN writer, to whom the world is indebted for a great deal of practical wisdom, conveyed in a very pleasing form, has recently directed his ingenious powers of analysis and illustration to the effects produced by Organisation on human affairs. Half the labour,' he says, "of the most laborious people in the world is wasted, or is of such an im'perfect character as to require much further labour, which 'need not have been if there had existed considerable skill in organising. Moreover, the loss of life, the loss of comfort, the 'loss of enjoyment which take place from a want of this skill are incalculable.' To suppose that things will go well, or indeed that they will go at all, without careful preparation and constant supervision, is a delusion which at once unfits a man for the exercise of authority. To organise the common affairs of life, from a dinner-party to a review in Hyde Park, is a task requiring forethought, quick apprehension, and judgment; but when it is requisite that the organisation be such as to meet extraordinary emergencies, and to provide against events of