men should be had in reverence, and that they should be supported against the scorn and hatred of their contemporaries by the hope of leaving a great and imperishable name.  To go on the forlorn hope of truth is a service of peril.  Who will undertake it, if it be not also a service of honour?  It is easy enough, after the ramparts are carried, to find men to plant the flag on the highest tower.  The difficulty is to find men who are ready to go first into the breach; and it would be bad policy indeed to insult their remains because they fell in the breach, and did not live to penetrate to the citadel.

Now here we have a book which is by no means a favourable specimen of the English literature of the nineteenth century, a book indicating neither extensive knowledge nor great powers of reasoning.  And, if we were to judge by the pity with which the writer speaks of the great statesmen and philosophers of a former age, we should guess that he was the author of the most original and important inventions in political science.  Yet not so:  for men who are able to make discoveries are generally disposed to make allowances.  Men who are eagerly pressing forward in pursuit of truth are grateful to every one who has cleared an inch of the way for them.  It is, for the most part, the man who has just capacity enough to pick up and repeat the commonplaces which are fashionable in his own time who looks with disdain on the very intellects to which it is owing that those commonplaces are not still considered as startling paradoxes or damnable heresies.  This writer is just the man who, if he had lived in the seventeenth century, would have devoutly believed that the Papists burned London, who would have swallowed the whole of Oates’s story about the forty thousand soldiers, disguised as pilgrims, who were to meet in Gallicia, and sail thence to invade England, who would have carried a Protestant flail under his coat, and who would have been angry if the story of the warming-pan had been questioned.  It is quite natural that such a man should speak with contempt of the great reformers of that time, because they did not know some things which he never would have known but for the salutary effects of their exertions.  The men to whom we owe it that we have a House of Commons are sneered at because they did not suffer the debates of the House to be published.  The authors of the Toleration Act are treated as bigots, because they did not go the whole length of Catholic Emancipation.  Just so we have heard a baby, mounted on the shoulders of its father, cry out, “How much taller I am than Papa!”