And, alas, if to these two notabilities, of a Phenomenon and such Theories of a Phenomenon, we add this third notability, That the French Nation has believed, for several years now, in the possibility, nay certainty and near advent, of a universal Millennium, or reign of Freedom, Equality, Fraternity, wherein man should be the brother of man, and sorrow and sin flee away?  Not bread to eat, nor soap to wish with; and the reign of perfect Felicity ready to arrive, due always since the Bastille fell!  How did our hearts burn within us, at that Feast of Pikes, when brother flung himself on brother’s bosom; and in sunny jubilee, Twenty-five millions burst forth into sound and cannon-smoke!  Bright was our Hope then, as sunlight; red-angry is our Hope grown now, as consuming fire.  But, O Heavens, what enchantment is it, or devilish legerdemain, of such effect, that Perfect Felicity, always within arm’s length, could never be laid hold of, but only in her stead Controversy and Scarcity?  This set of traitors after that set!  Tremble, ye traitors; dread a People which calls itself patient, long-suffering; but which cannot always submit to have its pocket picked, in this way,—­of a Millennium!

Yes, Reader, here is a miracle.  Out of that putrescent rubbish of Scepticism, Sensualism, Sentimentalism, hollow Machiavelism, such a Faith has verily risen; flaming in the heart of a People.  A whole People, awakening as it were to consciousness in deep misery, believes that it is within reach of a Fraternal Heaven-on-Earth.  With longing arms, it struggles to embrace the Unspeakable; cannot embrace it, owing to certain causes.—­Seldom do we find that a whole People can be said to have any Faith at all; except in things which it can eat and handle.  Whensoever it gets any Faith, its history becomes spirit-stirring, note-worthy.  But since the time when steel Europe shook itself simultaneously, at the word of Hermit Peter, and rushed towards the Sepulchre where God had lain, there was no universal impulse of Faith that one could note.  Since Protestantism went silent, no Luther’s voice, no Zisca’s drum any longer proclaiming that God’s Truth was not the Devil’s Lie; and the last of the Cameronians (Renwick was the name of him; honour to the name of the brave!) sank, shot, on the Castle Hill of Edinburgh, there was no partial impulse of Faith among Nations.  Till now, behold, once more this French Nation believes!  Herein, we say, in that astonishing Faith of theirs, lies the miracle.  It is a Faith undoubtedly of the more prodigious sort, even among Faiths; and will embody itself in prodigies.  It is the soul of that world-prodigy named French Revolution; whereat the world still gazes and shudders.