olutions cosmopolite. When a government believes that it represents a
just cause, let it make it triumph wherever a triumph is possible. This
is its right; it is more--it is its duty."--(_Introduction_, p. 120.)

How exactly analogous to this is the reasoning which leads to
persecution in religion--to the Holy Inquisition, and all its
philanthropic schemes _of intervention!_ The conviction in a good cause
allowed to overrule the fundamental principles of justice between man
and man--to overrule them, not occasionally and by way of exception, but
systematically--this is the very essence of persecution. But let no one
think that, by any such representation, he would gain an advantage over
the republican propagandist. He no longer fears religious
persecution--it is a thing past: he braves it. He would adopt his
favourite principle, and all its consequences. He would probably admit
that it was the duty of the priest, according to his priestly
intelligence, to ban and persecute. Not mutual toleration, but
reciprocal compulsion, would be his principle. Combat thou for thy
truth--let me fight for mine; such would be his formula.

In a writer bent upon startling and surprising us, there is often a sort
of premeditated haste, a voluntary forgetfulness, which it is curious to
remark. One who weighs his matter well before he speaks, will often end,
alas! in having something very tame and moderate to propound--something
which, after all his turmoil and reflection, may sound very like a good
old commonplace. Now this approximation to commonplace is the great
horror of shallow writers; and the way to avoid it appears to be
this:--Proclaim your thought at once, in all its crude candescence,
before it has had time to cool and shape itself; then, in order to save
your credit with the more captions and scrutinizing, give, at some
convenient interval, such an explanation or modification as will show
that, after all, you were as wise as your reader. State your paradox in
all the startling force of unmitigated diction, and refute it yourself
afterwards, or say enough to prove that you could have done so. This,
well managed, gives two occasions for brilliant display; a sober
statement has been converted into a couple of bold and glancing
propositions. Truth, it is well proved, like the diamond, shines the
more by being cut into surfaces.

M. Louis Blanc, for instance, makes a startling remark on the
incompatibility of royalty and a represe