richly decorated with sculpture.  But marble, such as he liked, could not readily be procured:  dissensions arose, and the work remained in the models.  The interposition of the Duke of York—­the malevolence of the commissioners—­the Puritanic, for I will not call them Protestant, prejudices of the clergy—­and, I must add, the tastelessness of the nation at large, have all conspired to diminish the interior glory of St. Paul’s, and render it less imposing on the mind than many a cathedral of less mark and reputation.—­George III. saw what was wanting, and would have endeavoured to supply it; but all his efforts to overcome the ecclesiastical objections were unavailing.  Let us hope that some of that truly good and English king’s descendents may have better success.—­Family Library, No. xix.

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DEATH OF RICHELIEU.

Richelieu in the meantime had reached his palace in the capital.  Roman despot was never more courted nor more feared; but death was coming fast to close his triumphant career.  A mortal malady wasted him:  yet the cardinal abated nothing of his pride, nor of his vindictiveness.  He exiled some of the king’s personal and cherished officers; he insulted Anne of Austria, the queen:  remained seated during a visit that she paid him, and threatened to separate her from her children.  Even his guards no longer lowered their arms in the presence of the monarch.  His demeanor to Louis XIII. was that of one potentate to another.  In December of 1642 the malady of the cardinal became inveterate, and every hope of life was denied him.  He summoned the king to his dying bed, recapitulated the great and successful acts of his administration, and recommended Mazarin as the person to continue its spirit, and to be his successor.  Louis promised obsequiousness.  Richelieu then received the last consolations of religion, and went through these pious and touching ceremonies with an apparently firm and undisturbed conscience.  The man of blood knew no remorse.  His acts had all been, he asserted, for his country’s good; and the same unbending pride and unshaken confidence that had commanded the respect of men, seemed to accompany him into the presence of his Maker.  He died like a hero of the Stoics, though clad in the trappings of a prince of the church.  Most of those present were edified by his firmness; but one bishop, calling to mind the life, the arrogance, and the crimes of the minister, observed, that “the confidence of the dying Richelieu filled him with terror.”  The crime of having trodden out the last spark of his country’s liberties, and of having converted its monarchic government into pure despotism, is that for which Richelieu is most generally condemned.  But the state of anarchy which he removed was license, not liberty.  The task of reconciling private independence with public peace, civil rights with the existence of justice,—­and this without