od, on the altar of our
liberty. With the weight of more than seventy winters upon his head,
broken with the struggles of a long life devoted to the cause of
liberty, in America and in France--a cause which he has never ceased
to cherish in the midst of the most depressing circumstances, even in
the dungeon's gloom--we see him now throwing off at once the weight of
years, recovering, as if by magic, all the animation of his youth,
with all its generosity and humanity; building up the liberties of his
country with one hand, and with the other, protecting and alleviating
the misfortunes of the fallen dynasty, and its misguided adherents.
This is, indeed, to ride like an angel in the whirlwind and direct the
storm: like an angel whose mercy is equal to his power. Yes--if any
thing could swell still louder the note of our exultation at this
great achievement, it is the part which Lafayette, the noble pupil of
our Washington, has borne and is still bearing in it. He seems to have
been preserved by heaven, amid the countless perils through which he
has passed, that he might witness the final triumph of liberty in his
native land. The great object of his life, that alone for which he
seemed to wish to live, is accomplished; and he wears, at this moment,
a brighter crown than ever graced the brow of a Bourbon; for it is
formed of the best affections, the love and gratitude of an admiring
world.

Here let us pause, and endeavor to recover from the amazement with
which such an event is calculated to overwhelm the mind, that we may
contemplate it more calmly.

On the first arrival of the intelligence, we involuntarily asked
ourselves, "Can this be a reality?" And when we could no longer doubt
the evidence of the fact, the next anxious inquiry which pressed
itself upon us, was "Will it stand, or are we again to be disappointed
as we were by the revolution of 1789?"

This is not a question of mere idle and speculative curiosity with
regard to which we are indifferent about the result. It is one in
which our feelings are keenly interested; and more--it is one of deep
and awful import to the liberties of the world. For if France is
again to revolve through years and through seas of blood and crime,
and to terminate, at last, at the point from which she set out--a
despotism--despair will fill the European world, and the people will
be disposed rather to bear the ills they have, than to encounter the
unavailing horrors of the double