its masters, by converting themselves frankly and truly
into its friends. For my part, as one of the people, I confess I like
the colours and shows of feudalism, and would retain as much of them as
would adorn nobler things. I would keep the tiger's skin, though the
beast be killed; the painted window, though the superstition be laid in
the tomb. Nature likes external beauty, and man likes it. It softens the
heart, enriches the imagination, and helps to show us that there are
other goods in the world besides bare utility. I would fain see the
splendours of royalty combined with the cheapness of a republic and the
equal knowledge of all classes. Is such a combination impossible? I
would exhort the lovers of feudal splendour to be the last men to think
so; for a thousand times more impossible will they find its retention
under any other circumstances. Their royalties, their educations, their
accomplishments of all sorts, must go along with the Press and its
irresistible consequences, or they will be set aside like a child in a
corner, who has insisted on keeping the toys and books of his brothers
to himself.

Now, there is nothing that irritates a just cause so much as a
threatening of force; and all impositions of a military chief on a
state, where civil directors will, at least, do as well, is a
threatening of force, disguise it, or pretend to laugh at it, as its
imposers may. This irritation in England will not produce violence.
Public opinion is too strong, and the future too secure. But deeply and
daily will increase the disgust and the ridicule; and individuals will
get laughed at and catechised who cannot easily be sent out of the way
as ambassadors, and who might as well preserve their self-respect a
little better. To attempt, however quietly, to overawe the advance of
improvement, by the aspect of physical force, is as idle as if soldiers
were drawn out to suppress the rising of a flood. The flood rises
quietly, irresistibly, without violence--it cannot help it--the waters
of knowledge are out, and will "cover the earth." Of what use is it to
see the representative of a by-gone influence--a poor individual mortal
(for he is nothing else in the comparison), fretting and fuming on the
shore of this mighty sea, and playing the part of a Canute reversed,--an
antic really taking his flatterers at their word?

The first thirty-five years of the nineteenth century have been rich in
experiences of the sure and certain f