g by rapid
transmutation to, shall we say, the right Proprietor of them? French
Game and French Game-Preservers did alight on the Cliffs of Dover, with
cries of distress. Who will say that the end of much is not come? A
set of mortals has risen, who believe that Truth is not a printed
Speculation, but a practical Fact; that Freedom and Brotherhood are
possible in this Earth, supposed always to be Belial's, which 'the
Supreme Quack' was to inherit! Who will say that Church, State, Throne,
Altar are not in danger; that the sacred Strong-box itself, last
Palladium of effete Humanity, may not be blasphemously blown upon, and
its padlocks undone?

The poor Constituent Assembly might act with what delicacy and diplomacy
it would; declare that it abjured meddling with its neighbours,
foreign conquest, and so forth; but from the first this thing was to be
predicted: that old Europe and new France could not subsist together.
A Glorious Revolution, oversetting State-Prisons and Feudalism;
publishing, with outburst of Federative Cannon, in face of all the
Earth, that Appearance is not Reality, how shall it subsist amid
Governments which, if Appearance is not Reality, are--one knows not
what? In death feud, and internecine wrestle and battle, it shall
subsist with them; not otherwise.

Rights of Man, printed on Cotton Handkerchiefs, in various dialects of
human speech, pass over to the Frankfort Fair. (Toulongeon, i. 256.)
What say we, Frankfort Fair? They have crossed Euphrates and the
fabulous Hydaspes; wafted themselves beyond the Ural, Altai, Himmalayah:
struck off from wood stereotypes, in angular Picture-writing, they
are jabbered and jingled of in China and Japan. Where will it stop?
Kien-Lung smells mischief; not the remotest Dalai-Lama shall now knead
his dough-pills in peace.--Hateful to us; as is the Night! Bestir
yourselves, ye Defenders of Order! They do bestir themselves: all Kings
and Kinglets, with their spiritual temporal array, are astir; their
brows clouded with menace. Diplomatic emissaries fly swift; Conventions,
privy Conclaves assemble; and wise wigs wag, taking what counsel they
can.

Also, as we said, the Pamphleteer draws pen, on this side and that:
zealous fists beat the Pulpit-drum. Not without issue! Did not iron
Birmingham, shouting 'Church and King,' itself knew not why, burst out,
last July, into rage, drunkenness, and fire; and your Priestleys, and
the like, dining there on that Bastille day, ge