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that of Hugo, yet he was large enough to subordinate even that egotism to the aims that absorbed him—to abhorrence of Napoleon the Little—to enthusiasm for the golden age of man. I like to think of him as I saw him at the Voltaire Centenary in 1876, pleading for Universal Peace amid the alternate hush and roar of thousands of excitable Parisians—his lion-like head erect, his strong hand uplifted, his voice still powerful at nearly eighty years. So vast was the crowd, so deserted the neighboring streets, that it all recalled the words put by Landor into the lips of Demosthenes: ‘I have seen the day when the most august of cities had but one voice within her walls; and when the stranger on entering them stopped at the silence of the gateway, and said, “Demosthenes is speaking in the assembly of the people.”
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Boston, Lee and Shepard Publishers, 1892.
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