The Sun.
London, England, 1832-04-23 00:00:00

(From the Morning Chronicle.)
I said in my last, that with a free Press our
Revolution would not be one of blood. I can-
not help offering a few observations suggested
by that expression.
We are threatened with a war of opinion.
Let it come What are its horrors, that we
should quake at its very mention, and cry out
Vce Victis ! What is a war of opinion ? What
are the weapons with which it is waged ? The
vulgar implements of battle—the gun, the
bayonet, and the sword ? No such thing. It
is the least sanguinary of contests. It is not a
warfare of blood. The plan of its campaigns is
not traced in Cabinets, nor decided on the field.

It is a conflict of thoughts and words. It is the mind
militant which fights the fight, and gains the vic-
tory. It is a struggle of mental stream and tide,
which works its way through the channels of
intellect, uprooting prejudices, and sapping the
embankment of old customs, by which it had
been too long restrained.
But viewing the question in its more obvious
and general acceptation, no war but a civil war
can be truly called a war of opinion. In do-
mestic struggles ,uaata arm for conscience sake,
and fight from conviction. But no foreign war,
whatever its pretext, possesses that character. It
is waged with hireling soldiers; and mercenaries
have no opinions. They fight from impulse or
instinct. National prejudice may move their
arms ; it cannot enlighten their minds. No two
nations will now-a-days go to war, on abstract
questions, religious or political; nor is there a
chance of any calculator having to add a man to
the nine millions seven hundred and thirty-three
thousand victims reckoned up by Voltaire. In
fact the world has grown wiser, and in a double
sense. It knows the little value of mere theo-
ries of Government, conduct, or faith ; and it
is satisfied that blows will never force conviction
into the heads of men.
Let us then dismiss our fear of this threatened
war of opinion, and even forget Mr. Canning's
memorable manifesto. It is well to quote a
great man, in support of a grand principle. But
the ex cathedra dictum of a statesman is only
worth its weight after the circumstances which
gave it currency are changed. It may float for
a while in fictitious value ; but it rises or falls
with the fluctuations of events. And is the
Europe of to-day that of five years back ? The
antediluvian world was not more different from
our own. A deluge of light has poured on us.
All the material forms of old abuses have been
either washed away, or are rotting in the clefts
and crevices to which they desperately cling. The
eyes of men have been opened. Now indeed
there is light.
The two great bugbears that oppressed the
world during the long darkness, were despotism
and revolution. Wrapped in gloom, or only
seen in glimpses, we knew not really what they
were—we imagined them what they are not.
Tyranny has too long played the part of ghost,
to scare the old women and children of political

life. The unreal nature of the cheat is now as
despicable as it is evident. European freedom
has had a long minority. It has struggled for
centuries through its ordeal of adolescence. It
is now of age ; and it stands up erect, with co-
lossal elevation—like the giant in Montgomery's

poem :
" In the full manhood of three hundred years."
It now looks Despotism boldly in the face ;
meets it foot to foot; and the decrepit monster
dares not come to blows. If some few dull in-
tellects doubt the fact, it proceeds from the old
prejudice of considering Governments as all in
all, and nations as nothing. But fact will force
conviction into the most stubborn and stolid.
Even they must admit that there are now no
mighty conquerors—no women more masculine
and monstrous than the men—to urge their lords
to foreign conquest, or trample liberty at home.
There is now no Louis, no Frederick, no Napo-
leon, each and all " the Great," no Elizabeth,
no Maria Theresa, no Catherine. Sovereigns
have shrunk into their natural dimensions. The
absolute monarchs of to-day are but monsters
with drawn teeth, and clipped claws. Even Ni-
cholas is notoriously turning his attention to the
amelioration of internal affairs. In Prussia, and
even in Austria, Liberty is making vast strides,
Were it dependent on the conduct of Francis,
or Frederick William, the best prayer we could
put up would be, that heaven might turn their
hearts and make them tyrants. Let them dare
attempt one act of oppression, and they are lust.
Every day that prolongs the present state of things
saps absolute power to its base. The monarchs
know this well. Every one of their individual
acts is a rebuke to their minion flatterers. The
tide is full in. Canute must remove his chair.
It is true that some isolated member of the mon-
ster-brood may struggle for awhile, and in its
last efforts drag down a foe or two. It may then
sing a Pavan ; but it is the chant of the dying
swan.

And what is Revolution to-day ? Does it
now, as of old, end in military power, dictator,
ship, or massacre ? The reply is recorded in the
events of Paris, Brussels, and Brunswick. It is
now clear, that as Governments learn the secret
of their weakness, and the people acquire the
consciousness of their strength, revolutions will
be proportionately bloodless. Confidence has
changed sides. The citizens are now willing to
fight, the soldiers hesitate—and as each begins
to know his relative power, and his relative place
in the social system, both laugh on finding that
the only difference between them is the cut or
the colour of their coats. But the spirit of civili-
zation is not confined to citizen or soldier. It
penetrates into the Cabinets, too often mere
" places of skulls." The moral sense of justice
overpowers the morbid instinct of oppression.
The unwillingness to shed blood in a bad cause
gains daily force. In fact, the people have every
advantage. And while the upper classes learn
to consider themselves a part ot', instead of coati-
. nuing to keep apart from, the people, the very
sovereigns begin to feel that they do not in them-
selves form the whole pyramid of social power,
but only its point.

The Ettrick Shepherd is arrived in excellent
health at Altrive, where his return was hailed with delight
by his family and friends. In a letter received from him
a few days ago, after recapitulating the kind attention he
experienced from all classes of society, whilst he was in
London, the unmphis icited and simple-minded poet con-
cludes his epistle by observing, " Our happy evenings are
over for a space, and God knows if they will ever return;
but I shall cherish the recollection of the nights I spent in
London for ever."