s in fusion
and ardent communion of thought; which, for example, on signal of one
Fugleman, will lift its right hand like a drilled regiment, and swear
and illuminate, till every village from Ardennes to the Pyrenees has
rolled its village-drum, and sent up its little oath, and glimmer of
tallow-illumination some fathoms into the reign of Night!

If grains are defective, the fault is not of Nature or National
Assembly, but of Art and Antinational Intriguers. Such malign
individuals, of the scoundrel species, have power to vex us, while the
Constitution is a-making. Endure it, ye heroic Patriots: nay rather,
why not cure it? Grains do grow, they lie extant there in sheaf or sack;
only that regraters and Royalist plotters, to provoke the people into
illegality, obstruct the transport of grains. Quick, ye organised
Patriot Authorities, armed National Guards, meet together; unite your
goodwill; in union is tenfold strength: let the concentred flash of your
Patriotism strike stealthy Scoundrelism blind, paralytic, as with a coup
de soleil.

Under which hat or nightcap of the Twenty-five millions, this pregnant
Idea first rose, for in some one head it did rise, no man can now say.
A most small idea, near at hand for the whole world: but a living one,
fit; and which waxed, whether into greatness or not, into immeasurable
size. When a Nation is in this state that the Fugleman can operate on
it, what will the word in season, the act in season, not do! It will
grow verily, like the Boy's Bean in the Fairy-Tale, heaven-high, with
habitations and adventures on it, in one night. It is nevertheless
unfortunately still a Bean (for your long-lived Oak grows not so);
and, the next night, it may lie felled, horizontal, trodden into common
mud.--But remark, at least, how natural to any agitated Nation, which
has Faith, this business of Covenanting is. The Scotch, believing in a
righteous Heaven above them, and also in a Gospel, far other than the
Jean-Jacques one, swore, in their extreme need, a Solemn League and
Covenant,--as Brothers on the forlorn-hope, and imminence of battle, who
embrace looking Godward; and got the whole Isle to swear it; and even,
in their tough Old-Saxon Hebrew-Presbyterian way, to keep it more or
less;--for the thing, as such things are, was heard in Heaven, and
partially ratified there; neither is it yet dead, if thou wilt look, nor
like to die. The French too, with their Gallic-Ethnic excitability and
efferve