Thus, if People’s-friend Marat has today his writ of “_prise de corps_, or seizure of body,” served on him, and dives out of sight, tomorrow he is left at large; or is even encouraged, as a sort of bandog whose baying may be useful. President Danton, in open Hall, with reverberating voice, declares that, in a case like Marat’s, ‘force may be resisted by force.’ Whereupon the Chatelet serves Danton also with a writ;—which, however, as the whole Cordeliers District responds to it, what Constable will be prompt to execute? Twice more, on new occasions, does the Chatelet launch its writ; and twice more in vain: the body of Danton cannot be seized by Châtelet; he unseized, should he even fly for a season, shall behold the Châtelet itself flung into limbo. Municipality and Brissot, meanwhile, are far on with their Municipal Constitution. The Sixty _Districts_ shall become Forty-eight _Sections;_ much shall be adjusted, and Paris have its Constitution. A Constitution wholly Elective; as indeed all French Government shall and must be. And yet, one fatal element has been introduced: that of _citoyen actif_. No man who does not pay the _marc d’argent_, or yearly tax equal to three days’ labour, shall be other than a _passive_ citizen: not the slightest vote for him; were he _acting_, all the year round, with sledge hammer, with forest-levelling axe! Unheard of! cry Patriot Journals. Yes truly, my Patriot Friends, if Liberty, the passion and prayer of all men’s souls, means Liberty to send your fifty-thousandth part of a new Tongue-fencer into National Debating-club, then, be the gods witness, ye are hardly entreated. Oh, if in National _Palaver_ (as the Africans name it), such blessedness is verily found, what tyrant would deny it to Son of Adam! Nay, might there not be a Female Parliament too, with “screams from the Opposition benches,” and “the honourable Member borne out in hysterics?” To a Children’s Parliament would I gladly consent; or even lower if ye wished it. Beloved Brothers! Liberty, one might fear, is actually, as the ancient wise men said, of Heaven. On this Earth, where, thinks the enlightened public, did a brave little Dame de Staal (not Necker’s Daughter, but a far shrewder than she) find the nearest approach to Liberty? After mature computation, cool as Dilworth’s, her answer is, _In the Bastille._[279] ‘Of Heaven?’ answer many, asking. Wo that they should _ask;_ for that is the very misery! ‘Of Heaven’ means much; share in the National Palaver it may, or may as probably _not_ mean.