a dreadful part of the example, that infernal malevolence has had pious apologists, who read their lectures on frailties in favor of crimes,—­who abandon the weak, and court the friendship of the wicked.  To root out these maxims, and the examples that support them, is a wise object of years of war.  This is that war.  This is that moral war.  It was said by old Trivulzio, that the Battle of Marignano was the Battle of the Giants,—­that all the rest of the many he had seen were those of the Cranes and Pygmies.  This is true of the objects, at least, of the contest:  for the greater part of those which we have hitherto contended for, in comparison, were the toys of children.

The October politician is so full of charity and good-nature, that he supposes that these very robbers and murderers themselves are in a course of melioration:  on what ground I cannot conceive, except on the long practice of every crime, and by its complete success.  He is an Origenist, and believes in the conversion of the Devil.  All that runs in the place of blood in his veins is nothing but the milk of human kindness.  He is as soft as a curd,—­though, as a politician, he might be supposed to be made of sterner stuff.  He supposes (to use his own expression) “that the salutary truths which he inculcates are making their way into their bosoms.”  Their bosom is a rock of granite, on which Falsehood has long since built her stronghold.  Poor Truth has had a hard work of it, with her little pickaxe.  Nothing but gunpowder will do.

As a proof, however, of the progress of this sap of Truth, he gives us a confession they had made not long before he wrote. “‘Their fraternity’ (as was lately stated by themselves in a solemn report) ’has been the brotherhood of Cain and Abel,’ and ’they have organized nothing but bankruptcy and famine.’” A very honest confession, truly,—­and much in the spirit of their oracle, Rousseau.  Yet, what is still more marvellous than the confession, this is the very fraternity to which our author gives us such an obliging invitation to accede.  There is, indeed, a vacancy in the fraternal corps:  a brother and a partner is wanted.  If we please, we may fill up the place of the butchered Abel; and whilst we wait the destiny of the departed brother, we may enjoy the advantages of the partnership, by entering without delay into a shop of ready-made bankruptcy and famine.  These are the douceurs by which we are invited to Regicide fraternity and friendship.  But still our author considers the confession as a proof that “truth is making its way into their bosoms.”  No!  It is not making its way into their bosoms.  It has forced its way into their mouths!  The evil spirit by which they are possessed, though essentially a liar, is forced by the tortures of conscience to confess the truth,—­to confess enough for their condemnation, but not for their amendment.  Shakspeare very aptly expresses this kind of confession, devoid of repentance, from the mouth of an usurper, a murderer, and a regicide:—­