of its own degeneracy, its false and artificial existence, readily accepted an idealized Geneva, an idealized Sparta, as the type of a primitive community, the model on which society was to be refashioned.  What the “pure word of God” had been to the Reformers, that “Nature” became to the revolutionists in all departments of thought and action, in poetry and music as in philosophy and politics—­a shibboleth to rally and unite all the elements of discontent and aspirations for change, a universal test by which to try all doctrines and systems.  In either case, as was soon discovered, the test would itself admit of diverse interpretations; but in the mean while the solvent had taken effect, the authority of custom and tradition had been overthrown, old organizations had crumbled into dust.

That the agitation thus evoked should have produced many grotesque, many frightful results, cannot seem strange.  Long before the lower strata had been reached the surface was in a state of ebullition.  Polite society was delightfully thrilled with a feeling of its own depravity, and found in the novel sensation the zest that had been wanting to its jaded powers of enjoyment.  Nor was it awakened from its illusions by the first eruption from below.  In a transport of delirium it threw away, as if they had been idle gems, of use only when cast into the public treasury, the privileges and prerogatives that had formed the basis of the monarchy.  Thenceforth the only effort was to secure a tabula rasa on which to rear that new and perfect state of which the model was at hand, if only the proper materials could be found and the foundations be laid.  Of the men who acquired a temporary mastery, three only, by the massive force of practical genius, were able to free themselves from the fascination of the common ideal.  But Mirabeau and Danton were overborne by the full tide, and Napoleon, when he arrested it in its languor, turned it into depths from which it emerged the other day to sweep away his column in the Place Vendome.

In thus glancing at the vast proportions of the subject, we have wandered far from the range of Mr. Morley’s work, which has a special purpose with well-defined limits.  It is not a complete biography of Rousseau, much less a history of his times.  It gives no full or vivid portraiture of character, no adequate narrative of events, no summary even of results.  It is an analytical study, an examination of the life and works of Rousseau with a view to determine their precise nature and quality, rather than their relative value or bearings.  Within these limits it exhibits ample knowledge and skill, combined with a searching but tolerant judgment.  Without labored discussion or passionate apology, it clears away entangling prejudices and current misconceptions, to assume a position from which undistorted views may be obtained.  At times, indeed, Mr. Morley carries his impartiality to the verge of indifference.  His certificate of Grimm’s