Not that such universally prevalent, universally jurant, feeling of Hope, could be a unanimous one.  Far from that!  The time was ominous:  social dissolution near and certain; social renovation still a problem, difficult and distant even though sure.  But if ominous to some clearest onlooker, whose faith stood not with one side or with the other, nor in the ever-vexed jarring of Greek with Greek at all,—­how unspeakably ominous to dim Royalist participators; for whom Royalism was Mankind’s palladium; for whom, with the abolition of Most-Christian Kingship and Most-Talleyrand Bishopship, all loyal obedience, all religious faith was to expire, and final Night envelope the Destinies of Man!  On serious hearts, of that persuasion, the matter sinks down deep; prompting, as we have seen, to backstairs Plots, to Emigration with pledge of war, to Monarchic Clubs; nay to still madder things.

The Spirit of Prophecy, for instance, had been considered extinct for some centuries:  nevertheless these last-times, as indeed is the tendency of last-times, do revive it; that so, of French mad things, we might have sample also of the maddest.  In remote rural districts, whither Philosophism has not yet radiated, where a heterodox Constitution of the Clergy is bringing strife round the altar itself, and the very Church-bells are getting melted into small money-coin, it appears probable that the End of the World cannot be far off.  Deep-musing atrabiliar old men, especially old women, hint in an obscure way that they know what they know.  The Holy Virgin, silent so long, has not gone dumb;—­and truly now, if ever more in this world, were the time for her to speak.  One Prophetess, though careless Historians have omitted her name, condition, and whereabout, becomes audible to the general ear; credible to not a few:  credible to Friar Gerle, poor Patriot Chartreux, in the National Assembly itself!  She, in Pythoness’ recitative, with wildstaring eye, sings that there shall be a Sign; that the heavenly Sun himself will hang out a Sign, or Mock-Sun,—­which, many say, shall be stamped with the Head of hanged Favras.  List, Dom Gerle, with that poor addled poll of thine; list, O list;—­and hear nothing. (Deux Amis, v. c. 7.)

Notable however was that ‘magnetic vellum, velin magnetique,’ of the Sieurs d’Hozier and Petit-Jean, Parlementeers of Rouen.  Sweet young d’Hozier, ’bred in the faith of his Missal, and of parchment genealogies,’ and of parchment generally:  adust, melancholic, middle-aged Petit-Jean:  why came these two to Saint-Cloud, where his Majesty was hunting, on the festival of St. Peter and St. Paul; and waited there, in antechambers, a wonder to whispering Swiss, the livelong day; and even waited without the Grates, when turned out; and had dismissed their valets to Paris, as with purpose of endless waiting?  They have a magnetic vellum, these two; whereon the Virgin, wonderfully clothing herself in Mesmerean Cagliostric Occult-Philosophy, has inspired them to