zation. I saw the hourly operations of that
mighty furnace in which the fortunes of all nations were mingled, and
poured forth remolded. And London itself was never more alive. Every
journal which I took up was filled with the signs of this extraordinary
energy; the projects and meetings, the harangues and political
experiments, of bold men, some rising from the mire into notoriety, if not
into fame; some plunging from the highest rank of public life into the
mire, in the hope of rising, if with darkened, yet a freshened wing. The
debates in parliament, never more vivid than at this crisis, with the two
great parties in full force, and throwing out flashes in every movement,
like the collision of two vast thunder clouds, were a perpetual summons to
action in every breast which felt itself above the dust it trod. But the
French journals were the true excitements to political ardour. They were
more than lamps, guiding mankind along the dusky paths of public
regeneration--they were torches, dazzling the multitude who attempted to
profit by their light; and, while they threw a glare round the head of the
march, blinding all who followed. To one born, like myself, in the most
aristocratic system of society on earth, yet excluded from its advantages
by the mere chance of birth, it was new, and undoubtedly not displeasing,
to see the pride of nobility tamed by the new rush of talent and ambition
which had started up from obscurity in France; village attorneys and
physicians, clerks in offices, journalists, men from the plough and the
pen, supplying the places of the noblesse of Clovis and Capet, possessing
themselves of the highest power while their predecessors were flying
through Europe; conducting negotiations, commanding armies, ruling
assemblies, holding the helm of government in the storm which had
scattered the great names of France upon the waters. I anticipated all the
triumph of the "younger sons."

Even the brief interval of my Brighton visit had curiously changed the
aspect of the metropolis. The emigration was in full force, and every spot
was crowded with foreign visages. Sallow cheeks and starting eyes,
scowling brows and fierce mustaches, were the order of the day; the monks
and the military had run off together. The English language was almost
overwhelmed by the perpetual jargon of all the loud-tongued
provincialities of France. But the most singular portion was the
ecclesiastical. The streets and parks were fi