“The hand of the Omnipotent works for us,” observed an old man whom I saw in the street selling cigars the evening before the opening of the Constitutional Assembly.  He was struck by the radiant beauty of the night.  The old people observe that there never has been such a winter as this which follows the establishment by the French of a republic.

May the omens speed well!  A host of enemies without are ready to levy war against this long-suffering people, to rivet anew their chains.  Still there is now an obvious tide throughout Europe toward a better order of things, and a wave of it may bear Italy onward to the shore.

The revolution, like all genuine ones, has been instinctive, its results unexpected and surprising to the greater part of those who achieved them.  The waters, which had flowed so secretly beneath the crust of habit that many never heard their murmur, unless in dreams, have suddenly burst to light in full and beautiful jets; all rush to drink the pure and living draught.

As in the time of Jesus, the multitude had been long enslaved beneath a cumbrous ritual, their minds designedly darkened by those who should have enlightened them, brutified, corrupted, amid monstrous contradictions and abuses; yet the moment they hear a word correspondent to the original nature, “Yes, it is true,” they cry.  “It is spoken with, authority.  Yes, it ought to be so.  Priests ought to be better and wiser than other men; if they were, they would not need pomp and temporal power to command respect.  Yes, it is true; we ought not to lie; we should not try to impose upon one another.  We ought rather to prefer that our children should work honestly for their bread, than get it by cheating, begging, or the prostitution of their mothers.  It would be better to act worthily and kindly, probably would please God more than the kissing of relics.  We have long darkly felt that these things were so; now we know it.”

The unreality of relation between the people and the hierarchy was obvious instantly upon the flight of Pius.  He made an immense mistake then, and he made it because neither he nor his Cardinals were aware of the unreality.  They did not know that, great as is the force of habit, truth only is imperishable.  The people had abhorred Gregory, had adored Pius, upon whom they looked as a saviour, as a liberator; finding themselves deceived, a mourning-veil had overshadowed their love.  Still, had Pius remained here, and had courage to show himself on agitating occasions, his position as the Pope, before whom they had been bred to bow, his aspect, which had once seemed to them full of blessing and promise, like that of an angel, would have still retained power.  Probably the temporal dominion of the Papacy would not have been broken up.  He fled; the people felt contempt for his want of force and truth.  He wrote to reproach them with ingratitude; they were indignant.  What had they to be grateful for?  A constitution to