misfortunes of others. La Rochefoucauld expresses the same sentiment as
his own. Couched in plain language, this appears to be a gloomy and
heartless doctrine; but probably nothing more is meant than a refinement
of the common adage, 'Misery loves company,' and that very good and
benevolent persons, if themselves overtaken by misfortune, can not but
feel some alleviation for their sorrows, in reflecting that others have
trials equally great and that they are but partakers of a common though
bitter lot. If there be really any consolation in reflections of this
kind, history furnishes us many striking examples, and, as far as great
changes in worldly condition are concerned, the prince and the plebeian,
the emperor and the exile, have often found themselves for a time on the
same level.

The wheel of fortune, in its revolutions, generally produces changes of
two descriptions, either exalting the lowly or pulling down the great.
In rarer instances, not satisfied with giving the individual a single
turn, it grants him the benefit of a more varied experience. It carries
the country-boy to wealth and power, and then transports him back to his
native fields, whose pure air is not less wholesome, after all, than the
heated atmosphere of the ball-room or caucus-chamber; or it may roll the
wave of revolution over a kingdom, banishing the prince to wander an
exile, perhaps a schoolmaster, in distant lands, to contend with poverty
or duns, and then, on its receding tide, landing him once more safely on
his throne. Frequent revolutions have, however, taught princes wisdom in
this respect. Most of them now seem to be well provided for in foreign
countries, beyond the reach of contingencies in their own, and if time
is given them to escape with their lives, it is generally found that
they have 'laid up treasure' where at any rate the thieves of the new
dynasty can not 'break through and steal.' A very recent instance is
afforded us by his majesty Faustin I., who, notwithstanding his