leave, and they rise to riots and revolts.
One reverend thing after another ceases to meet reverence: in visible
material combustion, chateau after chateau mounts up; in spiritual
invisible combustion, one authority after another. With noise and
glare, or noisily and unnoted, a whole Old System of things is vanishing
piecemeal: on the morrow thou shalt look and it is not.

Chapter 2.3.II.

The Wakeful.

Sleep who will, cradled in hope and short vision, like Lafayette,
'who always in the danger done sees the last danger that will threaten
him,'--Time is not sleeping, nor Time's seedfield.

That sacred Herald's-College of a new Dynasty; we mean the Sixty and
odd Billstickers with their leaden badges, are not sleeping. Daily they,
with pastepot and cross-staff, new clothe the walls of Paris in colours
of the rainbow: authoritative heraldic, as we say, or indeed almost
magical thaumaturgic; for no Placard-Journal that they paste but
will convince some soul or souls of man. The Hawkers bawl; and the
Balladsingers: great Journalism blows and blusters, through all its
throats, forth from Paris towards all corners of France, like an Aeolus'
Cave; keeping alive all manner of fires.

Throats or Journals there are, as men count, (Mercier, iii. 163.) to the
number of some hundred and thirty-three. Of various calibre; from your
Cheniers, Gorsases, Camilles, down to your Marat, down now to your
incipient Hebert of the Pere Duchesne; these blow, with fierce weight of
argument or quick light banter, for the Rights of man: Durosoys, Royous,
Peltiers, Sulleaus, equally with mixed tactics, inclusive, singular to
say, of much profane Parody, (See Hist. Parl. vii. 51.) are blowing for
Altar and Throne. As for Marat the People's-Friend, his voice is as that
of the bullfrog, or bittern by the solitary pools; he, unseen of men,
croaks harsh thunder, and that alone continually,--of indignation,
suspicion, incurable sorrow. The People are sinking towards ruin, near
starvation itself: 'My dear friends,' cries he, 'your indigence is not
the fruit of vices nor of idleness, you have a right to life, as good
as Louis XVI., or the happiest of the century. What man can say he has
a right to dine, when you have no bread?' (Ami du Peuple, No. 306. See
other Excerpts in Hist. Parl. viii. 139-149, 428-433; ix. 85-93, &c.)
The People sinking on the one hand: on the other hand, nothing but
wretched Sieur Motiers, treasonous Riquetti Mirabeaus; trait