Let it take warning by the Whigs; and suspect (as many a looker-on more than suspects) that its triumph may be, as with the Whigs, its ruin; and that, having done the work for which it was sent into the world, there may only remain for it, to decay and die.
And die it surely will, if (as seems too probable) there succeeds to this late thirty years of peace a thirty years of storm.
For it has lost all hold upon the young, the active, the daring.

It has sunk into a compromise between originally opposite dogmas.

It has become a religion for Jacob the smooth man; adapted to the maxims of the market, and leaving him full liberty to supplant his brother by all methods lawful in that market.

No longer can it embrace and explain all known facts of God and man, in heaven and earth, and satisfy utterly such minds and hearts as those of Cromwell's Ironsides, or the Scotch Covenanters, or even of a Newton and a Colonel Gardiner.

Let it make the most of its Hedley Vicars and its Havelock, and sound its own trumpet as loudly as it can, in sounding theirs; for they are the last specimens of heroism which it is likely to beget--if indeed it did in any true sense beget them, and if their gallantry was really owing to their creed, and not to the simple fact of their being--like others--English gentlemen.