generation,
relieved in some measure from the spectral hallucinations, hysterical
ophthalmia, and natural panic-delirium of the first contemporary one, is
gradually coming to discern and measure what its predecessor could only
execrate and shriek over; for, as our proverb said, the dust is sinking,
the rubbish-heaps disappear; the built house, such as it is, and was
appointed to be, stands visible, better or worse. Of Napoleon Bonaparte,
with so many bulletins, and such self-proclamation from artillery and
battle-thunder, loud enough to ring through the deafest brain, in the
remotest nook of this earth, and now, in consequence, with so many
biographies, histories and historical arguments for and against, it may be
said he can now shift for himself; that his true figure is in a fair way
of being ascertained. Doubtless it will be found one day, what
significance was in him; how, (we quote from a New-England book,) 'the man
was a divine missionary, though unconscious of it; and preached through
the cannon's throat that great doctrine, _La carriere ouverte aux talens_,
(the tools to him who can handle them,) which is our ultimate Political
Evangel, wherein alone can Liberty lie. Madly enough he preached it is
true, as enthusiasts and first missionaries are wont; with imperfect
utterance, amid much frothy rant; yet as articulately, perhaps, as the
case admitted. Or call him if you will, an American backwoodsman, who had
to fell unpenetrated forests, and battle with innumerable wolves, and did
not entirely forbear strong liquor, rioting, and even theft; whom,
nevertheless, the peaceful sower will follow, and, as he cuts the
boundless harvest, bless.' From 'the incarnate Moloch,' which the world
once was, onward to to this quiet version, there is a considerable
progress.
What are the conquests and expeditions of the whole corporation of
captains, from Walter the Pennyless to Napoleon Bonaparte, compared with
these 'moveable types' of Johannes Faust? Truly, it is a mortifying thing
for your conqueror to reflect, how perishable is the metal which he
hammers with such violence; how the kind earth will soon shroud up his
bloody foot-prints; and all which he achieved and skilfully piled
together, will be but like his own 'canvass city' of a camp; this evening
loud with life, to-morrow all struck and vanished, 'a few earth-pits and
heaps of straw!' For here, as always, it continues true, that the deepest
force is the stillest; that
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