restraint which is so alarming a symptom of our times.  Every rogue, “who felt the halter draw,” wanted to know if it was for tyranny like this that the Colonies had rebelled.  “Such a monster of a government has seldom or never been known on earth.  A blessed Revolution, a blessed Revolution, indeed!—­but farmers, mechanics, and laborers had no share in it. We are the asses who pay.”  This was the burden of the Democratic song.

But the real issue between the two parties, which underlay all their proposed measures and professed principles, was the old struggle of classes, modified of course by the time and the place.  The Democrats contended for perfect equality, political and social, and as little power as possible in the central government so long as their party was not in command.  The Federalists, who held the reins, were for a strong conservative administration, and a wholesome distinction of classes.  The two parties were not long in waiting for flags to rally around, and fresh fields on which to fight.  The French Revolution furnished both.  In its early stages it had excited a general sympathy in America; and, indeed, so has every foreign insurrection, rebellion, or riot since, no matter where or why it occurred, provided good use has been made of the sacred words Revolution and Liberty.  This cry has never been echoed in this country without exciting a large body of men to mass-meetings, dinners, and other public demonstrations, who do not stop to consider what it means, or whether, in the immediate instance, it has any meaning at all.  John Adams said in his “Defence of American Constitutions,” “Our countrymen will never run delirious after a word or a name.”  Mr. Adams was much mistaken.  If, according to the Latin proverb, a word is sufficient for a wise man, so, in another sense, it is all that is needful for fools.  But as the Revolution advanced in France towards republicanism, the Federalists, who thought the English system, less the king and the hereditary lords, the best scheme of government, began to grow lukewarm.  When it became evident that the New Era was to end in bloodshed, instead of universal peace and good-will towards men,—­that the Rights of Man included murder, confiscation, and atheism,—­that the Sovereignty of the People meant the rule of King Mob, who seemed determined to carry out to the letter Diderot’s famous couplet,—­

  “Et des boyaux du dernier pretre
  Serrez le cou du dernier des rois,”—­

then the adjective French became in Federal mouths an epithet of abhorrence and abuse; up went the flag of dear Old England, the defender of the faith and of social order.  The opposition party, on the contrary, saw in the success of the French people, in their overthrow of kings and nobles, a cheerful encouragement to their own struggle against the aristocratic Federalists, and would allow no sanguinary irregularities to divert their sympathy from the great Democratic triumph abroad.  The gay folds of the