which make the first use of their liberty to destroy liberty itself; who exile bishops, and who, in the face of all the world, break the plighted faith of treaties and concordats—­oh yes, those governments, who spy into the most secret recesses of family life, and create the monstrous and tyrannical Loi des suspects, oh yes, they are sure to respect the liberty and the independence of the Bishop of Rome! and are you baby enough to believe or imagine it?” D cowers beneath the moral lash; and hints rather than proposes, that if one country did not respect the Pope’s freedom, he could move into another, though he admits at the same time, he can see grave difficulties in the project.  Even this admission is unavailing to protect him from X’s savage onslaught, who winds up another torrent of vituperation with these words:  “Yes!  This is no question of the Pope and the Pope’s person, but of the liberty of all the Church, and of all the Episcopate, of your liberty and mine, of the liberty of princes, peoples, and all Christian souls.  Miserable man, have you lost all common sense, all catholic sense, even the ordinary sense of language?” In vain D confesses his errors, owns that he is converted, and implores mercy.  “No,” X replies in conclusion, “this is not enough; your tongue has spread scandal; and even, if innocent itself, has sown discord.  The good seed is obedience and reverence to the Pope our father and the Church our mother.  Woe to the tares of the new creed!  Woe to the proud and impious men, who under the cloak of piety raise their hands and tongues against their father and mother!  The crows and birds of prey shall feed upon their tongues, and the wrath of God shall wither up their hands.”

The demolition of D, the devout, only whets X’s appetite; and heedless of his coming doom, M, the moderate, enters the lists.  As a specimen of Papal mild facetiousness, I quote the commencement of the second dialogue.

M.  “Great news! a great book!”

X.  “Where from?”

M.  “From Paris.”

X.  “A dapper-dandy then, I suppose?”

M.  “No, a political pamphlet.”

X.  “Well, that is the same as a political dandy.”

M.  “A pamphlet explaining the policy of the Moderates.”

X.  “You mean, of the Moderate intellects?”

M.  “No, I mean the policy of the Moderates, a policy of compromise, between the Holy Father and, and—­”

X.  “Say what you really mean,—­between the Holy Father and the Holy
Revolution.”

After this test of M’s intellectual calibre, I am not surprised to learn that he is treated throughout with the most contemptuous playfulness.  He is horror-struck at learning that, in fact, he is nothing better “than a mediator between Christ and Beelzebub.”  He is joked about the fait accompli; and asked whether he would consider a box on his ears was excused and accounted for by a similar denomination of the