mediately followed it. The Parisian national guards had begun their march a short time before. Various bands of the poissardes were intermingled with all the different corps of this strange army-some seated in waggons, ornamented with green boughs, and white, red, and blue ribbons-some astride upon the cannon-many on horseback; generally two on the same horse, with the hats of the gardes-du-corps on their heads, the belts across their shoulders, and armed with sabres-rending the air every instant with their savage shouts and the choruses of their vile songs. In the middle of one band of those sanguinary hags, two men carried long pikes, on the points of which were the heads of the murdered gardes-du-corps.

At certain distances the whole procession was made to halt, for the purpose of firing fresh volleys, and that the soldiers might be refreshed with wine and a little rest. On those occassions the poissardes on the carriages and on horseback descended and joined hands in horrid dances around the bloody heads that were fixed on the pikes. What rendered the scene completely shocking was the presence of the gardes-du-corps who had been saved by the grenadiers, and were now marched in triumph, disarmed, and in sight of the heads of their murdered companions. These scenes of savage mirth were repeated at intervals during the journey, which lasted from a little after one till seven in the evening, about which time the royal family arrived at Paris.

The town was illuminated. The king was received with shouts and other demonstrations of joy, which, he was told, proceeded entirely from the overflowing loyalty of the inhabitants. As the procession moved to the Hotel de Ville, the exclamations of Vive le Roi ! resounded from all sides; but the unfortunate [monarch was sufficiently acquainted with the value of such exclamations. On entering the hall of the town-house, where a throne was prepared for his reception, a very dutiful speech was pronounced to him by one of the presidents of the common council. The king, no doubt, was also acquainted at this

time with the value of such dutiful speeches; and the reliance he put in the professions of loyalty which he heard was probably in exact proportion to the sincerity with which they were pronounced.

The queen was present at all this; and one remarkable proof of her presence of mind in the midst of scenes which might have disturbed even men of courage and firmness of character, was taken notice of, namely, that when the mayor was repeating to those around him what the king had said to him on his entering Paris, he happened to forget a sentence which the king had pronounced; the queen, overhearing this, instantly corrected him, and put him in mind of the omission.

CHAPTER XVI.

Reflections on French and British Loyalty-Anecdote regarding the Duke of Orleans-Reflections on his Character, and the part he took in the Revolution-On the Conduct and Views of Mirabeau-Expressions of four Persons in a Tavern at Seve -Dismal State of the Royal Family on their Arrival at the Tuilleries.

THE French have been thought to possess such an affectionate and respectful attachment to their monarchs, as rendered them by much the most loyal nation in Europe. No man was more of that opinion than the author of this narrative. The events of the present dreadful revolution afford cause of suspicion that this was at no time the case. in reality so much as it was in appearance.

It will be still acknowledged, however, that no people ever displayed more attachment to the person, or more zeal for the glory, of their monarchs, whether they were of worthless characters, like Henry III, or of benevolent ones, like Lewis XVI, than the French have always done, as long as the monarch has had the address or good fortune to retain his power. While the power of the prince flourishes, the loyalty of the subject shines green as the

laurel, and stands firm as a rock; but when his power is in decay, their loyalty withers with it, and shakes like the poplar leaf.

The people of England have been accused by their neighbours of possessing but a very moderate portion of loyalty; and what little they have is said to be of a very cold and phlegmatic nature. James II, however, was one of the most unpopular princes that ever sat on their throne: he provoked them to the highest degree, by perfidious designs against their liberty, and open attacks on their religion; yet when the sunshine of his prosperity was overcast with the blackest clouds of adversity; when his favourites, his relations, his very children, forsook him; and when, endeavouring to fly from the storm, he was stopped at Feversham, and brought back a prisoner to his capital; how was this ungracious king, thus overwhelmed with calamity, received by the English people? They were so much moved with compassion for his unhappy fate, so much affected with the sight of distressed royalty, that they forgot the king's misconduct by contemplating his misfortunes; the excess of his misery operated in his favour as if it had been virtue; and the dying embers of loyalty began to revive within their breasts, and to glow with more fervour than ever. This alarmed the prince of Orange; for although he could have formed no idea of such sensibility from any feelings of his own, yet the sympathy of the English nation did not escape his discernment: he began to dread that compassion for their unfortunate monarch would cool their gratitude to himself. He therefore immediately opened every door and port which could have opposed James's withdrawing from the kingdom, and made use of every art that could induce the infatuated monarch to adopt that measure. Such was the impression which the misfortunes of James made on the hearts of the inhabitants of the southern part of this island. As for those of the north, so far was the attachment of his friends there from depending on his prosperity, that their steady, though ill-placed, loyalty never was

more firm; nor were they ever more ready to shed their blood in his cause, and that of his posterity, than after they were were wretched exiles abandoned by all the rest of the world.

As there is much reason to believe, that the insurrection at Paris was begun by a set of wretches hired for the purpose; and as none of the democratic party had the means of so extensive a bribery except the duke of Orleans, it is pretty generally supposed that he was the first mover of the whole; and that he acted in conjunction with Mirabeau. Whatever truth there may be in the first supposition, there is great reason to think the second is ill-founded.

Sometime previous to the month of October, a secret committee, consisting of the duke of Orleans, Messrs. Mirabeau, La Clos,* L'Abbé Sieyes, La Touche Treville, met at the village of Monrouge near Paris, and agreed on a scheme for placing the duke of Orleans in such a distinguished situation in the government, that, by the assistance of his fortune and under the influence of his name, this junto would have the command of the mob of Paris, and a decisive weight in the national assembly.

At the critical period after the taking of the Bastile, but before the king had yielded to the urgent and frequent remonstrances of the national assembly for dismissing his new ministers, and ordering the troops to withdraw from the neighbourhood of Paris, Mirabeau thought that a fortunate moment for the duke to obtain the situa- ́ tion which he wished to see him placed in.

The duke being then at Versailles, Mirabeau stated to him the alarm under which the ministers and the whole court were, on account of the uncertain state of events at Paris, the signs of defection in the troops, and other cir

* M. La Clos was an officer of artillery, of eminence in his profession, and still more distinguished for his wit. He is author of a romance entitled Les Liaisons Dangereuses,' written with great spirit, but in which the profligate manners of the French are painted with a glow which offends modesty. This performance acquired to him the patronage of the duke of Orleans.

cumstances which rendered it probable that nothing he could ask would be refused; and persuaded him to go directly and demand an audience of the king, to offer his services for the restoration of the public tranquillity, and to request at the same time that he himself might be appointed lieutenant-general of the kingdom.

When Orleans entered the castle of Versailles, there was every appearance of alarm and confusion. Exaggerated accounts had been just received of scenes of bloodshed at Paris: the ladies of the court were crossing the apartments in tears-some recommended themselves to the protection of the officers, who were hurrying out with orders, or returning with fresh rumours of the transactions in the capital. The cabinet council was sitting, without being able to decide what measures should be adopted. The duke of Orleans waited till it broke up. The terror which appeared in every countenance, and which spread like a contagion, at length seized his own breast. It ought, no doubt, to have had a contrary effect: the confusion and dismay which he observed around him ought to have rendered him more serene, and confirmed him in his purpose; since they increased the probability that all his demands would be granted: but men under the influence of fear cannot reason. Ignorant of what the council had resolved on, dreading what they might possibly do if provoked, the duke accosted the king with a beating heart, and was quite disconcerted when the monarch demanded what his business was. Conscious guilt, and an instantaneous pang for the injuries he meditated against the person he addressed, probably added to his confusion, Afraid to utter what he had been instructed to say, and under the necessity of saying something, he asked permission to make a journey to England, in case the present disturbances should increase.

Nothing could surpass the indignation with which Mirabeau heard of the result of an affair on which he had founded some ambitious hopes; and he hardly ever mentioned the duke of Orleans but in terms full of con