followed; and thousands of the best and noblest men and women in France. Christianity was abolished, and the churches were closed throughout the country. The Federalists expressed strong disapproval of this overgrown democracy, and when war broke out between France and England, they favored the latter. The Republicans, on the other hand, could not do enough to testify their fervent admiration for the doings in Paris. They called each other "Citizen," after the French fashion, instead of "Mr."; they applauded the French victories; they welcomed the French ambassador with extravagant rejoicings. It is true that Jefferson neither led nor followed his party into all this madness; yet his sympathies were clearly with the Revolution, and just as Hamilton was the recognized head of the English party, Jefferson became the natural centre of that which favored France.

Thus French influence continued to make itself felt in American politics. It is true that a treaty with England, when the French government looked for a declaration of war, almost destroyed the old friendship of France for us, and that the depredations of French war-ships upon our commerce cooled the warmth of even the Republicans, and almost led to war with France. Nevertheless French influence was one of the most potent factors in bringing about that reaction which made Jefferson president.

But while the French Revolution was contributing so large a share in bringing Jefferson into power on this side of the sea, it was paving the way in France for the supremacy of Napoleon Bonaparte. The same year in which Jefferson was elected President saw Bonaparte firmly seated as First Consul. But if we consider that his ambition was hemmed in by the narrow limits of France, or even of Europe, we fail to comprehend Napoleon. Like Louis XIV., he longed to see the flag of France supreme on every continent, in every quarter of the earth. In person he led his legions to Egypt; his ambition dreamed of imitating Alexander in the far East; more than once he was suspected of having designs upon India. But more than all his mind turned to America, the soil of which was already consecrated to France by the memories of La Salle and Montcalm. On the north, England was

firmly intrenched; on the east lay the young republic; but beyond the Mississippi was Louisiana, already French in its antecedents and sympathies. Here was the opportunity which Napoleon coveted. In 1800 he obtained the territory from Spain by treaty. The treaty was kept a profound secret, as well it might be, for Napoleon realized that England could at any time take possession of New Orleans and hold it, by virtue of her superior naval strength. Not until peace was made between England and France did Napoleon openly acknowledge the cession. Then, indeed, he made preparations for the establishment of a large colony at the mouth of the Mississippi. Once more he would try the experiment in which Louis XIV. had failed. Once more the flag of France should wave over vast American empire. The peace with England, however, proved to be only a breathing spell, and as the complications began to arise which must lead to a renewal of the war, Napoleon's mind often turned with anxiety to his far-away possession. To defend it would be expensive and doubtful, to abandon it would be to put a premium upon English naval enterprise. Meanwhile time was pressing. "I must have Malta or war," said Napoleon to the British ambassador; and he knew that his words made the outbreak of hostilities a matter of weeks, even of days. Moreover, other considerations, an empty treasury for one, had their effect upon Bonaparte's mind. Thus it happened that Louisiana, full of untold possibilities, bearing the fruit of the labors of La Salle and Marquette and the last hope of French dominion in America, was for sale.

To Jefferson also Louisiana had a deep interest. In the years just succeeding the Revolution, the English settlers on the coast for the first time began to break through the mountain barrier which had so long confined them, and to take possession of the Ohio valley. But the road over the mountains was a hard one, and for many years there was surprisingly little intercourse between the people on opposite sides.

Those on the west slope looked to the Mississippi as the natural outlet for their products. Spring and fall great fleets of flat-boats, laden with flour, tobacco, and hams, floated down the stream to New Orleans, where the merchandise was sold or exported. They were gallant souls,

those early pioneers and state builders, men in whom the sterner qualities predominated. They had won their heritage bit by bit from the bear, the catamount, and the red man, and they were little disposed to suffer the insolence of the Spaniards at New Orleans. When therefore the Spanish governor closed the Mississippi to American commerce, from all the country west of the mountains a great cry went up. Wherever a number of frontiersmen were gathered together, some new tale of Spanish cruelty would come out. Now it was that one Thomas Amis, a settler on the Ohio, had been stopped at Natchez, his goods confiscated, and himself turned adrift in the forest to get home as best he could. The story would be told with a rude eloquence that would fire the hearts of the hearers. And then would follow curses, loud and deep, against the proud, cruel Spaniards, and against the Union which left them defenceless and without a remedy. More than once the whole West was in a blaze, and it seemed inevitable that the country must split asunder on the great line of the Appalachian Mountains. Washington himself declared that the western states stood, as it were, upon a pivot, and it needed but a touch to move them in either direction.

The pioneers had no more sincere friend than Jefferson. As governor of Virginia he had taken a deep interest in the beginnings of Kentucky. Later, as Secretary of State, he had been unremitting in his efforts to gain the right of navigation of the Mississippi by treaty. This had at length been attained in 1795, but when in 1802 the Spanish authorities at New Orleans, acting in the name of France, once more closed the river to American commerce, Jefferson found himself again called upon to interfere. Moreover, he felt that the nation which should hold New Orleans must be our natural enemy, and he realized how much more serious the situation would be if, for that enemy, instead of the decaying power of Spain, we should have France under Napoleon. At the first rumor of the cession he instructed our minister to France, Robert R. Livingstone, to make overtures to Bonaparte, looking towards the acquisition of Louisiana, or part of it, by this country. Affairs in Europe, however, had not yet reached that critical condition which they afterwards assumed, and

Napoleon merely answered Mr. Livingstone politely, and went on with his preparations for establishing a colony.

Meanwhile the whole West was stirred to its depths. That a mongrel population of thirty thousand, half of them slaves, should longer stand in the way of the rights of three large states containing twenty times as many inhabitants, was absurd. The frontiersmen proposed to descend the river in force and occupy New Orleans, despite the Federal Government, European diplomacy, or the legions of Napoleon. We have seen that Jefferson had been elected president as the candidate who appealed to the feeling in this country favorable to France. Naturally he dreaded war with that power above all things. At the same time he was too thoroughly patriotic to place a sentimental liking of any foreign nation above the true welfare of his own country. Accordingly, while on the one hand he held back the western settlers from violent measures, his language in regard to France took a more decided tone. Louisiana included both banks of the river as far north as Natchez. Could Jefferson obtain the east bank, together with the island of New Orleans, he might feel that the right of navigation of the river would be reasonably secure. He therefore despatched James Monroe as a special envoy to France, to negotiate upon this basis, it being well understood by the latter, however, that the ultimate object was the acquisition of all Louisiana. Congress placed at his disposal two millions of dollars to pay expenses. We have seen how European affairs operated to assist Jefferson's diplomacy. Instead of accepting Monroe's offer, Bonaparte made the counter offer of the whole region for one hundred and twenty-five millions of francs. A little judicious haggling reduced the price to eighty millions, or about sixteen millions of dollars, a fourth of which was to be paid to American citizens as satisfaction for claims against France. After a few days for consideration, the American ambassadors accepted these terms, and signed the treaty, April 30, 1803. "Of all our services to our country," said Livingstone, "this is the greatest.". "I have given England a maritime rival who will one day humble her pride," said Napoleon, as he ratified the treaty on behalf of France. The treaty was forwarded to America, where it was approved by Jefferson and ratified by

Congress. At noon, on the 29th of December, 1803, in the presence of a large part of the population of Louisiana, the French tri-color was lowered from its staff in the public square of New Orleans, and in its place the people saw waving above them the stars and stripes of the Federal Union. Let us briefly consider the results of this Louisiana Purchase, - what it meant to France, to the United States, and to Jefferson. To France the cession of Louisiana meant the final relinquishment of her interest in the North American continent. From the time when Verazzano sailed along the coast, in 1524, it had been the cherished dream of heroic souls to win an empire in the new world, perhaps for the Jesuit, perhaps for the Huguenot, but at all events for France. For this cause Coligny and Colbert had labored at Paris, and Champlain and Frontenac at Quebec. For this cause Jean Ribaut had perished in the swamps of Florida, Marquette by the Great Lakes, La Salle on the coast of Texas, and Montcalm on the Plains of Abraham. The struggle forms a grand yet pathetic story. Slowly, mournfully, the tricolor is lowered from its staff in the square of New Orleans. It is the last time that a French flag shall float over American soil in token of sovereignty.

Next, as to Jefferson. We have seen how his fondness for laying down abstract doctrines of political morality, combined with his intense democracy, had taken form in the theories of strict construction and state rights. He had attacked the Federalists for going beyond the letter of the Constitution. Nowhere could he find in that instrument any authority for the purchase of territory by the general government. He had drawn up a series of resolutions for Kentucky, explicitly declaring the individual state superior to the national government. Surely he realized that the acquisition of Louisiana must shatter this theory; for whatever might be the application of the doctrine of state rights to one of the original thirteen colonies, like Virginia, or however it might be twisted to apply to an offshoot from it, like Kentucky, it certainly could have no rightful connection with a state formed out of territory bought and paid for by the whole nation. Moreover, the purchase might furnish a precedent and a power for future administrations to use badly. It certainly

would supply a political weapon to the Federalists, and would strongly impeach Jefferson's own reputation for consistency. These scruples and objections doubtless passed through Jefferson's mind; but the great importance of the purchase to the United States was sufficient to overbalance them all. It was a case in which a great acquisition must be paid for by a great concession. On the one hand were the principles which had guided his own political life, and upon which he had founded the Republican party; on the other, true statesmanship and the real welfare of the nation. The statesman and the political theorist in Jefferson met face to face, and the former triumphed. The Louisiana Purchase, contrary alike to the Constitution and to Jefferson's own political faith, was, nevertheless, accomplished; and to-day almost a century of history bears unbroken record to the wisdom and statesmanship which dictated it.

If we ask what the purchase meant to Jefferson's fellow-citizens and contemporaries, we have to answer, Very little. They had come into possession of a territory extending from the Mississippi to the Mexican border and the Rocky Mountains, but as yet they comprehended but vaguely their new acquisition. So little was known about the region that the most marvellous tales were set in circulation, and even transmitted to Congress by Jefferson in his report. There were tribes of Indians, veritable Goliaths in size, curious plants and animals and, most wonderful of all, a mountain of salt, one hundred and eighty miles long by forty-five wide. Of all this, as of the purchase generally, the Federalist papers made unlimited fun. One inquired, with great innocence, if this mountain might not be the remains of Lot's wife. They scouted the price. Why, William Penn had obtained Pennsylvania for five thousand pounds, and Gorges had paid only twelve hundred and fifty for all Maine! Even good Republicans felt that a debt of sixteen millions of dollars was a very dangerous affair. Some cautious people suggested that when emigration to the new regions set in, the entire East would be depopulated, and there would not be enough people left on the sea-board to keep out a foreign army. Others feared that a new state would arise beyond the Mississippi. Josiah Quincy opposed the purchase on the ground that it would

strengthen the slave power. These alarms, however, proved for the most part to be imaginary. The growing wealth of the country soon put at rest any fears on the score of the debt. The emigration from the East did not prove as violent as was feared. Before the new country had time to think of secession, it was bound to the older states by bonds of steel. It is true that the Louisiana Purchase added three new states to the slave power; but these were far outbalanced by the great free Northwest.

It was said of Chatham that he found his country an island and left her an empire. Scarcely less is the verdict of history upon Thomas Jefferson. When Jefferson became president he found no less than three European powers "hanging on the flanks and rear of the republic,' on the north, the British; on the south, the Spaniards; on the west, the French. He found the republic itself tending towards disunion, and the North American continent in a fair way to become but a shuttlecock in the game of European politics. By the Louisiana Purchase he left the country doubled in size, united in domestic interests, and with its political union greatly strengthened. He increased the power and prestige of the United States at home and abroad; he prepared the way for that assertion of her supremacy throughout the western hemisphere to which James Monroe was to give his name; and wrote the acquisition of Florida, of Texas, of California, and of Alaska in the book of national destiny.

But, after all, if we would consider the Louisiana Purchase in its highest phase,

we must look at it from the standpoint of its world-wide importance. We must reflect how much smaller would be the capability of our country of playing the part assigned it in the great drama of the world, with Chicago to-day a frontier city and the Mississippi for our western limit; how changed the course of the world's history, with a French empire stretching from Oregon to the Isthmus.

This brings us again to the question of America and France. Says Mr. John Richard Green: "In the centuries which lie before us, the primacy of the world will lie with the English people;" and a recent magazine article speaks as a matter of course of the time when Italian, Spanish, and French will be of as little practical importance as the Erse or Welsh, and adds: "Whether we welcome or deplore the prospect, the fact is unmistakable, - the future of the world is English." Perhaps the historian of the twentieth century, as he looks out upon a world dominated by the English language, English laws, and English civilization, together with American liberty, equality, and ideas of self-government, will review the steps by which the great result has been attained. He will see in the long career of France in America one of the most determined attempts made by another race to win for itself this supremacy; and among the men and events that saved the North American continent to the AngloSaxon, as second only to James Wolfe and the capture of Quebec, he will mark Thomas Jefferson and the Louisiana Purchase.

"MY

Y works can never be popular. He who thinks and strives to make them so is in error." In this quiet fashion did Goethe, in one of those wise and delightful conversations with Eckermann which the latter has recorded for us, take the horoscope of his own "popularity." He did not affect popularity; he did not despise it; he sim

ply in these words gave expression to the deliberate judgment, at which, with characteristic impartiality, he had arrived, that for him, or for his works, popularity was a thing which could not be.

The highly notable poetic phenomenon, as some of his admirers would say, the most notable in English literature since Milton, or even since Shakespeare,-whom

readers of English poetry throughout the world are now mourning, would doubtless, with or without Goethe's equanimity, have said virtually the same thing, had he been questioned as to his hopes for the future of his works.

With an equanimity as entire and unaffected as Goethe's own when he announced his opinion as to the future of his works with the general public, has the general public listened, or failed to listen, to Goethe's deliverance; and if it is supposed that the general English-reading public contemplates with any less equanimity a like lack of popularity for Browning's works, that is only because, in the din raised round them by the ardor of his applauding admirers, the admirers fail to see how cold and unresponsive are the great reading masses beyond their comparatively small circle.

To say of a poet that he can never become popular is doubtless to pronounce sentence somewhere, little as the speaker may think or desire to do so. He may be pronouncing sentence against the poet, or he may be pronouncing it against the public, or possibly against both poet and public. Goethe, it seems to me, when we take into account what his works were both in substance and in form, must be felt, however unintentionally on his part, to have been pronouncing sentence against the public. The onus, such as it was, of his predicted lack of popularity rested with the public. It was, and would continue, if his lack of popularity continued, on a level, intellectual or moral, too low to admit of its appreciating Goethe's worth. What Goethe himself said of the Founder of Christianity, viz., that his personality was so great that it could not be comprehended by his disciples, might in the same sense, though in a lower degree, have been predicated of Goethe in relation to the public.

When we come to consider Browning and the absence of popularity which I have assumed Browning himself would have admitted as the fortune that must attend his works, can we say that such an admission would have been a similar sentence? Can we say, in the case of Browning, what we have said in the case of Goethe? Must Browning's lack of popularity, so far as it exists now, or may exist hereafter, be charged upon the public alone, as incapable by its intellectual and moral position of duly appraising his worth as a writer?

Such a question is not one dictated in any trifling spirit; for, according as it may be answered, may the intending student of Browning feel summoned to bend his energies to a wrestle with the poet's works until they render up their meaning to him, or may he feel justified in avoiding the encounter. The present time, too, when it may be supposed that Browning's recent death has drawn not merely a fresh but a deepened attention to his works, is a most fitting one for asking and attempting to answer the question. The objection is possible, that it may seem ungracious to put the question at this moment, when the language of praise and reverence alone will seem to some more befitting our relation to the dead poet who charmed, taught, and elevated us than that of critical appraisal. To this objection, however, it would be a sufficient reply that the best way of honoring such a spirit as was that of Robert Browning can never be that of turning our eyes away from seeing him exactly as he is, with all his excellencies and with all his deficiencies, but always of seeing, or at least of trying to see him, exactly as he is, with no real deficiency unnoted, no real excellence unrecognized. Is it not by proceeding in this way only that we can make either Browning or any other such remarkable spirit a safe guide, instructor, or inspirer for ourselves?

In considering Browning and his long poetic career, in considering especially, as is here our purpose, the obscurity of his style, which has been so much discussed, it seems not a little remarkable that this notable luminary burst on the world at once, if the bull may be pardoned, in the full blaze of his obscurity. In his first poem of Pauline, published when the author was only twenty-three, he could hardly have been called luminous. It was in his seven years' later work, however, in Sordello, that he achieved, almost as if at a bound, his masterpiece of obscurity. A great German philosopher is said to have lamented on his deathbed that one man only in all the world understood him, and even that man did not understand him rightly. Mr. Browning has dedicated his poem to a certain friend, and I have it conjectured that this friend is who understood the poem. would doubtless have bee mockers that Browning