and Rome passed at last out of
fashion and favour, without any actual legislative abolition.
When, in 1795, the great stir was made by Reeve's _Thoughts on
English Government_, Sheridan's proposal to have it burnt met
with little approval, and it escaped with only a censure. Reeve,
president of an association against Republicans and Levellers,
like Cowell and Brecknock before him, gave offence by the extreme
claims he made for the English monarch. The relation between our
two august chambers and the monarchy he compared to that between
goodly branches and the tree itself: they were only branches,
deriving their origin and nutriment from their common parent; but
though they might be lopped off, the tree would remain a tree
still. The Houses could give advice and consent, but the
Government and its administration in all its parts rested wholly
and solely with the King and his nominees. That a book of such
sentiments should have escaped burning is doubtless partly due to
the panic of Republicanism then raging in England; but it also
shows the gradual growth of a sensible indifference to the power
of the pen.

And when we think of the freedom, almost unchecked, of the
literature of the century now closing, of the impunity with which
speculation attacks the very roots of all our political and
theological traditions, and compare this state of liberty with
the servitude of literature in the three preceding centuries,
when it rested with archbishop or Commons or Lords not only to
commit writings to the flames but to inflict cruelties and
indignities on the writers, we cannot but recognise how
proportionate to the advance we have made in toleration have been
the benefits we have derived from it. Possibly this toleration
arose from the gradual discovery that the practical consequences
of writings seldom keep pace with the aim of the writer or the
fears of authority; that, for instance, neither is property
endangered by literary demonstrations of its immorality, nor are
churches emptied by criticism. At all events, taking the risk of
consequences, we have entered on an era of almost complete
literary impunity; the bonfire is as extinct as the pillory; the
only fiery ordeal is that of criticism, and dread of the reviewer
has taken the place of all fear of the hangman.

Whether the change is all gain, or the milder method more
effectual than the old one, I would hesitate to affirm. He would
be a bold man who would assert any la