we shall see it risen out of the bottomless Darkness, full-grown, into disastrous Twilight,—­a Hemlock-tree, great as the world; on or under whose boughs all the People’s-friends of the world may lodge.  ’Two hundred and sixty thousand Aristocrat heads:’  that is the precisest calculation, though one would not stand on a few hundreds; yet we never rise as high as the round three hundred thousand.  Shudder at it, O People; but it is as true as that ye yourselves, and your People’s-friend, are alive.  These prating Senators of yours hover ineffectual on the barren letter, and will never save the Revolution.  A Cassandra-Marat cannot do it, with his single shrunk arm; but with a few determined men it were possible.  “Give me,” said the People’s-friend, in his cold way, when young Barbaroux, once his pupil in a course of what was called Optics, went to see him, “Give me two hundred Naples Bravoes, armed each with a good dirk, and a muff on his left arm by way of shield:  with them I will traverse France, and accomplish the Revolution.” (Memoires de Barbaroux (Paris, 1822), p. 57.) Nay, be brave, young Barbaroux; for thou seest, there is no jesting in those rheumy eyes; in that soot-bleared figure, most earnest of created things; neither indeed is there madness, of the strait-waistcoat sort.

Such produce shall the Time ripen in cavernous Marat, the man forbid; living in Paris cellars, lone as fanatic Anchorite in his Thebaid; say, as far-seen Simon on his Pillar,—­taking peculiar views therefrom.  Patriots may smile; and, using him as bandog now to be muzzled, now to be let bark, name him, as Desmoulins does, ‘Maximum of Patriotism’ and ‘Cassandra-Marat:’  but were it not singular if this dirk-and-muff plan of his (with superficial modifications) proved to be precisely the plan adopted?

After this manner, in these circumstances, do august Senators regenerate France.  Nay, they are, in very deed, believed to be regenerating it; on account of which great fact, main fact of their history, the wearied eye can never be permitted wholly to ignore them.

But looking away now from these precincts of the Tuileries, where Constitutional Royalty, let Lafayette water it as he will, languishes too like a cut branch; and august Senators are perhaps at bottom only perfecting their ’theory of defective verbs,’—­how does the young Reality, young Sansculottism thrive?  The attentive observer can answer:  It thrives bravely; putting forth new buds; expanding the old buds into leaves, into boughs.  Is not French Existence, as before, most prurient, all loosened, most nutrient for it?  Sansculottism has the property of growing by what other things die of:  by agitation, contention, disarrangement; nay in a word, by what is the symbol and fruit of all these:  Hunger.