III. Among the effects of the work, such as it was, was a sort of concussion, produced by it in the sort of world it belonged to: in the world of politics, but more particularly in the world of law. More particularly still, in the higher regions; the inhabitants of which, in this as in other professions, form a sort of celestial conclave, of the secrets of which, whatsoever observation is endeavoured to be made from the subjacent low grounds, is made through a medium impregnated with awe, admiration, and conjecture.

The peep here given into its mysteries will, perhaps, be found neither uninteresting nor uninstructive: it may be assistant to the grand purposes which the work itself has for its objects: objects, which may be seen containing the germ of every thing which, on the same field, has been sown by the same hand, since. A more particular object is—the throwing light into the den of the long-robed Cacus. Cacus felt the light, and trembled.

The more extensive, and indeed all-comprehensive object is—the pointing attention to the imperfections which even at that time of day were seen swarming in the frame of the government, and to the ricketiness of the only foundations, in which, on the ground of argument, it had ever found support. No such imperfection having place but what brought profit, in some shape or other, to those among whom the power was shared,—their interest of course was, that those same imperfections should, in their whole mass, remain for ever unremoved, and therefore be, at all times, as little as possible in view.