Enoch. No! Behold has not thy Jesuit | whither? By-standers wag their heads, and Familiar his Scouts dim-flying over the deep say; 'The Brow of Brass, behold how it has of human things? Cleared art thou of crime, got all unlackered; these Pinchbeck lips can save that, of fixed-idea; weepest, a repentant lie no more! Eheu! Ohoo!"-and he burst exile, in the Mountains of Auvergne. Neither into unstanchable blubbering of tears; and shall the Red Fire-sea itself consume thee; sobbing out the moanfullest broken howl, sank only consume thy Gig, and, instead of Gig down in swoon; to be put to bed by De Launay (0 rich exchange!) restore thy Self. Safe be- and others. yond the Rhine-stream, thou livest peaceful days; savest many from the fire, and anointest their smarting burns. Sleep finally, in thy mother's bosom, in a good old age!"—The Cardinal gave a sort of guttural murmur, or gurgle, which ended in a long sigh.

"O Horrors, as ye shall be called," again burst forth the Quack, "why have ye missed the Sieur de Lamotte; why not of him, too, made gallows-carrion? Will spear, or swordstick, thrust at him, (or supposed to be thrust,) through window of hackney-coach, in Piccadilly of the Babylon of Fog, where he jolts disconsolate, not let out the imprisoned animal existence? Is he poisoned, too?" Poison will not kill the Sieur Lamotte; nor steel, nor massacres. Let him drag his utterly superfluous life to a second and a third generation; and even admit the not too judicious Historian to see his face before he die.

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Thus spoke (or thus might have spoken) and prophesied, the Arch-quack Cagliostro; and truly much better than he ever else did: for not a jot or tittle of it (save only that of our promised Interview with Nestor de Lamotte, which looks unlikelier than ever, for we have not heard of him, dead or living, since 1826,) but he has turned out to be literally true. As, indeed, in all his History, one jot or title of untruth, that we could render true, is, perhaps, not discoverable; much as the distrustful reader may have disbelieved.

Here, then, our little labour ends. The Necklace was, and is no more: the stones of it again "circulate in commerce" (some of them perhaps, in Rundle's at this hour;) may give rise to what other Histories we know not. The Conquerors of it, every one that trafficked in it, have they not all had their due, which was Death?

But, ha!” cried he, and stood wide-staring, This little Business, like a little cloud, horror struck, as if some Cribb's fist had bodied itself forth in skies clear to the unobknocked the wind out of him: "O horror of servant: but with such hues of deep-tinted horrors! Is it not Myself I see? Roman In- villany, dissoluteness, and general delirium, as quisition! Long months of cruel baiting! to the observant, betokened it electric; and Life of Giuseppe Balsamo! Cagliostro's Body wise men (a Goethe, for example) boded still lying in St. Leo Castle, his Self fled-Earthquakes. Has not the Earthquakes come!

MEMOIRS OF MIRABEAU.*

[LONDON AND WESTMINSTER REVIEW, 1837.

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A PROVERB says, "The house that is a- work which our world witnesses,-the Life of building looks not as the house that is built,' Environed with rubbish and mortar-heaps with scaffold-poles, hodmen, dust-clouds, some rudiments only of that thing that is to be, can, to the most observant, disclose themselves through the mean tumult of the thing that hitherto is. How true is this same with regard to all works and facts whatsoever in our world; emphatically true in regard to the highest fact and

* See Lamotte's Narrative, (Mémoires Justificatifs.) + Lamotte, after his wife's death, had returned to Paris; and been arrested-not for building churches. The Sentence of the old Parlement against him, in regard to the Necklace business, he gets annulled by the new Courts; but is, nevertheless, "retained in confinement," (Moniteur Newspaper, 7th August, 1782.) He was still in Prison at the time the September Massacre broke out. From Maton de la Varenne we cite the following grim passage: Maton is in La Force Prison.

"At one in the morning," (of Monday, September 3,) writes Maton, "the grate that led to our quarter was again opened. Four men in uniform, holding each a naked sabre and blazing torch, mounted to our corridor; a turnkey showing the way; and entered a room close on ours, to investigate a box, which they broke open. This done, they halted in the gallery; and began interrogating one Cuissa, to know where Lamotte was; who, they said, under a pretext of finding a treasure, which they should share in, had swindled one of them

what we call an Original Man. Such a man is one not made altogether by the common pattern; one whose phases and goings forth cannot be prophesied of, even approximately; though, indeed, by their very newness and strangeness they most of all provoke prophecy. A man of this kind, while he lives on earth, is “unfolding himself out of nothing into something," surely under very complex conditions: out of 300 livres, having asked him to dinner for that purpose. The wretched Cuissa, whom they had in their power, and who lost his life that night, answered, all trembling, that he remembered the fact well, but could not say what had become of the prisoner. Resolute to find this Lamotte and confront him with Cuissa, they ascended into other rooms, and made further rummaging there; but apparently without effect, for I heard them say to one another: "Come, search among the corpses, then for, Nom de Dieu! we must know what is become of him." (Ma Resurrection, par Maton de la Varenne; reprinted in the Histoire Parlementaire, xviii. 142.)-Lamotte lay in the Bicêtre Prison; but had got out, precisely in the nick of time,and dived beyond soundings.

Mémoires biographiques, litteraires, et politiques, do Mirabeau; écrits par lui-même, par son Père Oncle, et son Fils Adoptif (Memoirs, biographical, literary, and politi cal, of Mirabeau: written by himself, by his Father, his Uncle, and his Adopted Son.) 8vols. 8vo, Paris, 1834-36.

he is drawing continually towards him, in con- | the sum of its strength, its sacred "property tinual succession and variation, the materials for ever," whereby it upholds itself, and steers of his structure, nay, his very plan of it, from forward better or worse, through the yet undis the whole realm of accident, you may say, and covered deep of Time. All knowledge, all art, from the whole realm of free-will: he is build- all beautiful or precious possession of exist ing his life together in this manner; a guessence, is, in the long run, this, or connected with and a problem as yet, not to others only but to this. Science itself, is it not, under one of its himself. Hence such criticism by the by- most interesting aspects, Biography; is it not standers; loud no-knowledge, loud misknow- the Record of the Work which an original man, ledge! It is like the opening of the Fisher- still named by us, or not now named, was man's Casket in the Arabian Tale, this begin- blessed by the heavens to do? That Spherening and growing-up of a life: vague smoke and-cylinder is the monument and abbreviated wavering hither and thither; some features of history of the man Archimedes; not to be fora Genie looming through; of the ultimate gotten, probably, till the world itself vanish. shape of which no fisherman or man can judge. Of Poets, and what they have done, and how And yet, as we say, men do judge, and pass the world loves them, let us, in these days, very provisional sentence, being forced to it; you singular in respect of that Art, say nothing, or can predict with what accuracy! "Look at next to nothing. The greatest modern of the the audience in a theatre," says one: "the life poetic guild has already said: "Nay if thou of a man is there compressed within five hours' wilt have it, who but the poet first formed gods duration; is transacted on an open stage, with for us, brought them down to us, raised us up lighted lamps, and what the fittest words and to them?" art of genius can do to make the spirit of it clear; yet listen, when the curtain falls, what a discerning public will say of that! And now, if the drama extended over three-score and ten years; and were enacted, not with a view to clearness, but rather indeed with a view to concealment, often in the deepest attainable involution of obscurity; and your discerning public occupied otherwise, cast its eye on the business now here for a moment, and then there for a moment?" Wo to him, answer we, who has no court of appeal against the world's judgment! He is a doomed man: doomed by conviction to hard penalties; nay, purchasing ac-effectual discourse of logic on it. A remark, quittal (too probably) by a still harder penalty, that of being a trivialty, superficialty, self-advertiser, and partial or total quack, which is the hardest penalty of all.

Another remark, on a lower scale, not unworthy of notice, is by Jean Paul: that, "as in art, so in conduct, or what we call morals, before there can be an Aristotle, with his critical canons, there must be a Homer, many Homers with their heroic performances." In plainer words, the original man is the true creator (or call him revealer) of Morals too: it is from his example that precepts enough are derived, and written down in books and systems: he properly is the Thing; all that follows after is but talk about the thing, better or worse interpretation of it, more or less wearisome and in

this of Jean Paul's which, well meditated, may seem one of the most pregnant lately written on these matters. If any man had the ambition of building a new system of morals, (not But suppose farther, that the man, as we a promising enterprise, at this time of day,) said, was an original man; that his life-drama there is no remark known to us which might would not and could not be measured by the better serve him as a chief corner-stone, wherethree unities alone, but partly by a rule of its on to found, and to build, high enough, nothing own too: still farther, that the transactions he doubting;—high, for instance, as the Christian had mingled in were great and world-dividing; Gospel itself. And to whatever other heights that of all his judges there were not one who man's destiny may yet carry him! Consider had not something to love him for unduly, to whether it was not, from the first, by example, hate him for unduly! Alas! is it not precisely in or say rather by human exemplars, and such this case, where the whole world is promptest to reverent imitation or abhorrent aversion and judge, that the whole world is likeliest to be avoidance as these gave rise to, that man's wrong: natural opacity being so doubly and duties were made indubitable to him? Also, trebly darkened by accidental difficulty and per- if it is not yet, in these last days, by very much version? The crabbed moralist had some show the same means, (example, precept, prohibition, of reason who said: "To judge of an original" force of public opinion," and other forcings contemporary man, you must, in general, reverse the world's judgment about him; the world is not only wrong on that matter, but cannot on any such matter be right."

One comfort is, that the world is ever working itself righter and righter on such matters; that a continual revisal and rectification of the world's first judgment on them is inevitably going on. For, after all, the world loves its original men, and can in no wise forget them; not till after a long while; sometimes not till after thousands of years. Forgetting them, what indeed, should it remember? The world's wealth is its original men; by these and their works it is a world and not a waste: the memory and record of what MEN it bore-this is

and inducings,) that the like result is brought about; and, from the Woolsack down to the Treadmill, from Almack's to Chalk Farm and the west-end of Newgate, the incongruous whirlpool of life is forced and induced to whirl with some attempt at regularity? The two Mosaic Tables were of simple limited stone; no logic appended to them: we, in our days, are privileged with Logic-Systems of Morals, Professors of Moral Philosophy, Theories of Moral Sentiment, Utilities, Sympathies, Moral Senses, not a few; useful for those that feel comfort in them. But to the observant eye, is it not still plain that the rule of man's life rests not very steadily on logic (rather carries logic unsteadily resting on it, as an excuse, an ex

position, or ornamental solacement to oneself | plosion and new creation of the world;" but and others;) that ever, as of old, the thing a the actors in it, that went buzzing about him, man will do is the thing he feels commanded to a "handvoll mücken, handful of flies." And to do; of which command, again, the origin and reasonableness remains often as good as indemoustrable by logic; and, indeed, lies mainly in this, that it has been demonstrated otherwise and better by experiment; namely, that an experimental (what we name original) man has already done it, and we have seen it to be good and reasonable, and now know it to be so once and for evermore?-Enough of this.

were not vanity, astucity, diseased rigour (which some count strength) as of a cramp: really a most poor sea-green individual in spectacles; meant by Nature for a Methodist parson of the stricter sort, to doom men who departed from the written confession; to chop fruitless shrill logic; to contend, and suspect, and ineffectually wrestle and wriggle; and, on the whole, to love, or to know, or to be (properly speaking) Nothing;-this was he who, the sport of wracking winds, saw himself whirled aloft to command la première nation de l'univers, and all men shouting long life to him; one of the most lamentable, tragic, seagreen objects, ever whirled aloft in that manner, in any country, to his own swift destruction, and the world's long wonder!

yet, one may add, this same explosion of a world was their work; the work of theseflies? The truth is, neither Forster nor any man can see a French Revolution; it is like seeing the ocean: poor Charles Lamb complained that he could not see the multitudinous ocean at all, but only some insignificant fraction of it from the deck of the Margate hoy. It must be owned, however, (urge these severe critics,) that examples of rabid triviHe were a sanguine individual, surely, that ality abound, in the French Revolution, to should turn to the French Revolution for new a lamentable extent. Consider Maximilien rules of conduct and creators or exemplars of Robespierre; for the greater part of two years, morality, except, indeed, exemplars of the what one may call Autocrat of France. A gibbetted, in-terrorem sort. A greater work, it poor sea-green (verdâtre,) atrabiliar Formula is often said, was never done in the world's of a man; without head, without heart, or any history by men so small. Twenty-five mil-grace, gift, or even vice beyond common, if it lions (say these severe critics) are hurled forth out of all their old habitudes, arrangements, harnessings, and garnitures, into the new, quite void arena and career of Sansculottism; there to show what originality is in them. Fanfaronading and gesticulation, vehemence, effervescence, heroic desperation, they do show in abundance; but of what one can call originality, invention, natural stuff or character, amazingly little. Their heroic desperation, such as it was, we will honour and even venerate, as a new document (call it rather a renewal of that primeval ineffaceable document and charter) of the manhood of man. But, for the rest, there were Federations; there were Festivals of Fraternity, "the Statute of Nature pouring water from her two mammelles," and the august Deputies all drinking of it from the same iron saucer: Weights and Measures were attempted to be changed; the Months of the Year became Pluviose, Thermidor, Messidor (till Napoleon said, I faudra se débarrasser de se Messidor, One must get this Messidor sent about its business :) also Mrs. Momoro and others rode prosperous, as Goddesses of Reason; and then, these being mostly guillotined, Mahomet Robespierre did, with bouquet in hand, and in new nankeen trowsers, in front of the Tuileries, pronounce ⚫ the scraggiest of prophetic discourses on the Etre Suprême, and set fire to much emblematic pasteboard:-all this, and an immensity of such, the twenty-five millions did devise and accomplish; but (apart from their heroic desperation, which was no miracle either, beside that of the old Dutch, for instance) this, and the like of this, was almost all. Their arena of Sansculottism was the most original arena opened to man for above a thousand years; and they, at bottom, were unexpectedly common-place in it. Exaggerated common-place, triviality run distracted, and a kind of universal "Frenzy of John Dennis," is the figure they exhibit. The brave Forster,-sinking slowly of broken heart, in the midst of that volcanic chaos of the Reign of Terror, and clinging still to the cause, which, though now bloody and terrible, he believed to be the highest, and for which he had sacrificed all, country, kindred, fortune, friends, and life,compares the Revolution, indeed, to "an ex

So argue these severe critics of the French Revolution: with whom we argue not here; but remark rather, what is more to the purpose, that the French Revolution did disclose original men: among the twenty-five millions, at least one or two units. Some reckon, in the present stage of the business, as many as three: Napoleon, Danton, Mirabeau. Whether more will come to light, or of what sort, when the computation is quite liquidated, one cannot say: meanwhile let the world be thankful for these three ;-as, indeed, the world is; loving original men, without limit, were they never so questionable, well knowing how rare they are! To us, accordingly, it is rather interesting to observe how on these three also, questionable as they surely are, the old process is repeating itself; how these also are getting known in their true likeness. A second 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, what with so many bulletins, and such self-proclamation from artillery and battle-thunder, loud enough to

Forster's Briefe und Nachlass.

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 that he can now sift 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 carrière ouverte aux talens, (The tools to him that 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 utter-will find some sort of story in this Danton. A ance, 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 word once was, onwards to this quiet version, there is a considerable progress.

Still more interesting is it, not without a touch almost of pathos, to see how the rugged Terra Filius Danton begins likewise to emerge, from amid the blood-tinted obscurations and shadows of horrid cruelty, into calm light; and seems now not an Anthropophagus, but partly a man. On the whole, the Earth feels it to be something to have a "Son of Earth;" any reality, rather than a hypocrisy and formula! With a man that went honestly to work with himself, and said and acted, in any sense, with the whole mind of him, there is always something to be done. Satan himself, according to Dante, was a praiseworthy object, compared with those juste-milicu angels (so over-numerous in times like ours) who "were neither faithful nor rebellious," but were for their little selves only trimmers, moderates, plausible persons, who, in the Dantean Hell, are found doomed to this frightful penalty, that "they have not the hope to die, (non han speranza di morte;) but sunk in torpid death-life, in mud and the plague of flies, they are to doze and dree for ever,-"hateful to God and to the Enemies of God:"

"Non ragionum di lor, ma guarda e passa!” If Bonaparte were the "armed Soldier of Democracy," invincible while he continued true to that, then let us call this Danton the Enfant Perdu, and unenlisted Revolter and Titan of Democracy, which could not yet have soldiers or discipline, but was by the nature of it lawless. An Earthborn, we say, yet honestly born of Earth! In the Memoirs of Garat, and elsewhere, one sees these fire-eyes beam with earnest insight, fill with the water of tears; the huge rude features speak withal of wild human sympathies; that Antæus' bosom also held a heart."It is not the alarm-cannon that you hear," cries he to the terrorstruck, when the Prussians were already at Verdun: "it is the pas de charge against our

enemies. De l'audace, et encore de l'audace, et toujours de l'audace: to dare, and again to dare. and without limit to dare!"-there is nothing left but that. Poor "Mirabeau of the Sansculottes," what a mission! And it could not be but done,-and it was done! But, indeed, may there not be, if well considered, more virtue in this feeling itself, once bursting earnest from the wild heart, than in whole lives of immaculate Pharisees and Respectabilities, with their eye ever set on "character," and the letter of the law: "Que mon nom soit flétri, Let my name be blighted, then; let the Cause be glorious, and have victory!" By and by, as we predict, the Friend of Humanity, since so many Knife-grinders have no story to tell him, rough-hewn giant of a man, (not anthropophagous entirely;) whose "figures of speech" (and also of action) "are all gigantic;" whose "voice reverberates from the domes,"-and dashes Brunswick across the marches in a very wrecked condition. Always his total freedom from cant is one thing; even in his briberies, and sins as to money, there is a frankness, a kind of broad greatness. Sincerity, a great rude sincerity, (of insight and of purpose,) dwelt in the man, which quality is the root of all: a man who could see through many things, and would stop at very few things; who marched impetuously, where to march was almost certainly to fall; and now bears the penalty, in a "name" blighted, yet, as we say, visibly clearing itself. Once cleared, why should not this name, too, have significance for men? The wild history is a tragedy, as all human histories are. Brawny Dantons, still to the present hour, " rend the glebe," as simple brawny Farmers, and reap peaceable harvests, at Arcis-sur-Aube; and this Danton-! It is an unrhymed tragedy; very bloody, fuliginous, (after the manner of the elder dramatists;) yet full of tragic elements; not undeserving natural pity and fear. In quiet times, perhaps still at a great distance, the happier onlooker may stretch out the hand, across dim centuries, to him, and say: "Illstarred brother, how thou foughtest with wild lion-strength, and yet not with strength enough, and flamedst aloft, and wert trodden down of sin and misery;-behold, thou also wert a man!" It is said there lies a Biography of Danton written, in Paris, at this moment; but the editor waits till the "force of public opinion" ebb a little. Let him publish, with utmost convenient despatch, and say what he knows, if he do know it: the lives of remarkable men are always worth understanding instead of misunderstanding; and public opinion must positively adjust itself the best way it can.

But without doubt the far most interesting best-gifted of this questionable trio is not the Mirabeau of the Sansculottes, but the Mirabeau himself: a man of much finer nature than either of the others; of a genius equal in strength (we will say) to Napoleon's; but a much humaner genius. almost a poetic one. With wider sympathies of his own, he appeals far more persuasively to the sympathies of men

Of him, too, it is interesting to notice the | ancient or new-devised, some increase of inprogressive dawning, out of calumny, misrepresentation, and confused darkness, into visibility and light; and how the world manifests its continued curiosity about him; and as book after book comes forth with new evidence, the matter is again taken up, the old judgment on it revised and anew revised; whereby, in fine, we can hope the right, or approximately right, sentence will be found; and so the question be left settled. It would seem this Mirabeau also is one whose memory the world will not, for a long while, let die. Very different from many a high memory, dead and deep buried long since then! In his lifetime, even in the final effulgent part of it, this Mirabeau took upon him to write, with a sort of awe-struck feeling, to our Mr. Wilberforce; and did not, that we can find, get the benefit of any answer. Pitt was prime minister, and then Fox, then again Pitt, and again Fox, in sweet vicissitude; and the noise of them, reverberating through Brookes's and the clubrooms, through tavern dinners, electioneering hustings, leading articles, filled all the earth; and it seemed as if those two (though which might be which, you could not say) were the Ormuzd and Ahriman of political nature; and now! Such difference is there (once more) between an original man, of never such questionable sort, and the most dexterous, cunningly-devised parliamentary mill. The difference is great; and one of those on which the future time makes largest contrast with the present. Nothing can be more important than the mill while it continues and grinds; important above all to those who have sacks about the hopper. But the grinding once done, how can the memory of it endure? It is important now to no individual, not even to the individual with a sack. So that, this tumult well over, the memory of the original man, and of what small revelation he, as Son of Nature and brother-man, could make, does naturally rise on us: his memorable sayings, actings, and sufferings, the very vices and crimes he fell into, are a kind of pabulum which all mortals claim their right to.

sight was unavoidable. Besides, the book itself did somewhat. Numerous specialities about the great Frenchman, as read by the eyes of the little Genevese, were conveyed there; and could be deciphered, making allowances. Dumont is faithful, veridical; within his own limits he has even a certain freedom, a picturesqueness and light clearness. It is true, the whim he had of looking at the great Mirabeau as a thing set in motion mainly by him (M. Dumont) and such as he, was one of the most wonderful to be met with in psycho logy. Nay, more wonderful still, how the reviewers, pretty generally, some from whom better was expected, took up the same with aggravations; and it seemed settled on all sides, that here again a pretender had been stripped, and the great made as little as the rest of us (much to our comfort); that, in fact, figuratively speaking, the enormous Mirabeau, the sound of whom went forth to all lands, was no other than an enormous trumpet, or coachhorn, (of japanned tin,) through which a dexterous little M. Dumont was blowing all the while, and making the noise! Some men and reviewers have strange theories of man. Let any son of Adam, the shallowest now living, try honestly to scheme out, within his head, an existence of this kind; and say how verisimilar it looks! A life and business actually conducted on such coach-horn principle,—we say not the life and business of a statesman and world-leader, but say of the poorest laceman and tape-seller, were one of the chief miracles hitherio on record. Oh, M. Dumont! But thus, too, when old Sir Christopher struck down the last stone in the Dome of St. Paul's, was it he that carried up the stone? No; it was a certain strong-backed man, never mentioned, (covered with envious or unenvious oblivion,) —probably of the Sister Island.

Concerning Pouchet, Chaussard, Gassicourt, and, indeed, all the former Biographers of Mirabeau, there can little be said here, except that they abound with errors: the present ultimate Fils Adoptif, has never done picking faults with them. Not as memorials of Mirabeau, but as memorials of the world's relation to him, of the world's treatment of him, they may, a little longer, have some perceptible significance. From poor Peuchet (he was known in the Moniteur once,) and other the like labourers in the vineyard, you can justly demand thus much; and not justly much more.

Let us add, however, more plainly, that M. Dumont was less to blame here than his reviewers were. The good Dumont accurately records what ingenious journey-work and fetching and carrying he did for his Mirabeau; interspersing many an anecdote, which the world is very glad of; extenuating nothing we do hope, nor exaggerating any thing: this is what he did, and had a clear right and call to do. And what if it failed, not altogether, yet in some measure if it did fail, to strike him, that he still properly was but a Dumont? Nay, that the gift this Mirabeau had of enlisting such respectable Dumonts to do hod-work and even skilful handiwork for him; and of ruling them and bidding them by the look of his eye; and of making them cheerfully fetch and carry for him, and serve him as loyal subjects, with a kind of chivalry and willingness, that this Etienne Dumont's Souvenirs sur Mirabeau gift was precisely the kinghood of the man, might not, at first sight, seem an advance and did itself stamp him as a leader among towards true knowledge, but a movement the men! Let no man blame M. Dumont (as some other way, and yet it was really an advance. have too harshly done); his error is of overThe book, for one thing, was hailed by a uni- sight, and venial; his worth to us is indisput versal choral blast from all manner of reviews able. On the other hand, let all men blame and periodical literatures that Europe, in all such public instructors and periodical indiits spellable dialects, had: whereby, at least, viduals as drew that inference and life-theory the minds of men were again drawn to the for him, and brayed it forth in that loud mansubject: and so, amid whatever hallucination. | ner; or rather, on the whole, do not blame, but