Lafayette is absent; one must either wait for
him, or name some other.' Well, then, name
directly, and do it yourself.
"At length the Electors agreed to proceed to
judgment; Foulon was again brought in. The
foremost part of the crowd joined hands, and
formed a chain several ranks deep, in the mid-
dle of which he was received. At this moment
M. Lafayette came in; went and took his place
at the board among the electors, and then ad-
dressed to the people a discourse, of which the
Ami du Roi and the Records of the Town-hall,
the two authorities we borrow from here, give
different reports."

Lafayette's speech, according to both versions, is to the effect that Foulon is guilty: but that he doubtless has accomplices; that he must be taken to the Abbaye prison, and investigated there. "Yes, yes, to prison! Off with him, off!" cried the crowd. The Deux Amis add another not insignificant circumstance, that poor Foulon himself, hearing this conclusion of Lafayette's, clapped hands; whereupon the crowd said, "See! they are both in a story!" Our editors continue and conclude:

rubbish and produce out of it, in small neat compass, a “ Life and Remains" of this poor Camille. We pick up three light fractions, illustrative of him and of the things he moved in; they relate to the famous Fifth of October, (1789,) when the women rose in insurrection The Palais Royal and Marquis Saint-Huruge have been busy on the King's veto, and Lally Tollendall's proposal of an upper house :—

"Was the Palais Royal so far wrong," says Camille, "to cry out against such things? I know that the Palais Royal promenade is strangely miscellaneous; that pickpockets fre quently employ the liberty of the press there, and many a zealous patriot has lost his handker chief in the fire of debate. But for all that I must bear honourable testimony to the promenaders in this Lyceum and Stoa. The Palais Royal garden is the focus of patriotism: there do the chosen patriots rendezvous, who have left their hearths and their provinces to witness this magnificent spectacle of the Revolution of 1789, and not to witness without aiding in it. They are Frenchmen; they have an interest in the Constitution, and a right to concur in it. How many Parisians too, instead of going to their Districts, find it shorter to come at once to the Palais Royal. Here you have no need to ask a President if you may speak, and wait two hours till your turn comes. You propose your motion; if it find supporters, they set you on a chair: if you are applauded, you proceed to the redaction: if you are hissed, you go your ways. It is very much the mode the Romans followed; their Forum and our Palais Royal resemble one another."-Vol. ii. p. 414.

Then a few days further on-the celebrated military dinner at Versailles, with the white cockades, black cockades, and "O Richard! 0 mon Roi!" having been transacted :—

“At this moment there rose a great clamour in the square. It is the Palais Royal coming,' said one; It is the Faubourg Saint Antoine,' said another. Then a well dressed person (homme bien mis) advanced towards the board, and said, Touz vous moquez: what is the use of judging a man who has been judged these thirty years! At this word, Foulon was clutched; hurled out to the square; and finally tied to the fatal rope, which hung from the Lanterne at the corner of the Rue de la Vannerie. The rope was afterwards cut; the head was put on a pike, and paraded,"-with "grass" in the mouth of it, they might have added!-Vol. ii. p. 148. From the "Revolution de France et de Brabant," Camille Desmoulin's newspaper "Paris, Sunday, 4th October. The king's wife furnishes numerous extracts, in the earlier had been so gratified with it, that this brotherly volumes; always of a remarkable kind. This repast of Thursday must needs be repeated. It Procureur Général de la Lanterne has a place of was so on the Saturday, and with aggravahis own in the history of the Revolution;tions. Our patience was worn ou': you may there are not many notabler persons in it than he. A light, harmless creature, as he says of himse:f; a man born to write verses," but whom destiny had directed to overthrow bastilles, and go to the guillotine for doing that. How such a man will comport himself in a French Revolution, as he from time to time turns up there, is worth seeing. Of loose, headlong character; a man stuttering in speech; M. Marat flies to Versailles; returns like stuttering, infirm, in conduct too, till one huge | lightning; makes a noise like the four blasts idea laid hold of him: a man for whom art, of doom, crying to us-Awake, ye Dead! fortune, or himself, would never do much, but Danton, on his side, sounds the alarm in the to whom Nature had been very kind! One Cordeliers. On Sunday this immortal Corde meets him always with a sort of forgiveness, liers' District posts its manifesto and that almost of underhand love, as for a prodigal very day they would have gone t: Versailles, son. He has good gifts, and even acquire- had not M. Crevecoeur, their commandant, ments elegant law-scholarship, quick sense, stood in the way. People seek out their arms the freest joyful heart: a fellow of endless wit, however; sally out to the streets in chase of clearness, soft lambent brilliancy; on any anti-national cockades. The law of reprisals subject you can listen to him, if without ap- is in force; these cockades are torn off, trampled proving, yet without yawning. As a writer, in under foot, with menace of the Later e in case fact, there is nothing French that we have of relapse. A military gentleman, picking up heard of superior or equal to him for these his cockade, is for fastening it en again; a fifty years. Probably some French editor, hundred canes start into the air, saying reto some day or other, will sift that journalistic | The whole Sunday passes in hunting down

suppose whatever patriot observers there were at Versailles hastened to Paris with the news, or at least sent off despatches containing them That same day (Saturday evening) all Paris set itself astir. It was a lady, first, who, seeing that her husband was not listened to at his District, came to the bar of the Cafe de Foi, to denounce the anti-national cockades.

the white and the black cockades; in holding | Guards, already getting saluted with stones, council at the Palais Royal, over the Faubourg think it reasonablest to open a passage; and, Saint Antoine, at the end of bridges, on the like waters through a broken dike, the floods quais. At the doors of the coffee houses there of the multitude inundate the Hotel de Vilie. arise free conferences between the Upper House, of the coats that are within, and the Lower House, of jackets and wool-caps, assembled extra muros. It is agreed upon that the audacity of the aristocrats increases rapidly; that Madame Villepatour and the queen's women are distributing enormous white cockades to all comers in the Eil-de-Bouf; that M. Lecointre, having refused to take one from their hands, has all but been assassinated. It is agreed upon that we have not a moment to lose; that the boat which used to bring us fiour from Corbeil, morning and evening, now comes only once in two days:-do they plan to make their attack at the moment when they have kept us for eight-and-forty hours in a fasting state? It is agreed upon," &c.-Vol. iii. p. 63.

are sacrificed on alighting; ten succeed in en- | the villains in this prison, whom other villains tering. The committee had not had time to outside will open the doors to, shall go and put the slightest question, when a multitude, kill my wife and children in the meanwhile! armed with pikes, sabres, swords, and bayonets, I have three boys, who I hope will be usefuller dashes in; seizes the accused, and kills them. to their country one day than these rascals you One prisoner, already much wounded, kept want to save. Any way you have but to send hanging by the skirts of a Committee-member, them out; we will give them arms, and fight and still struggled against death. them number for number. Die here or die on the frontiers, I am sure enough to be killed by these villains, but I mean to sell them my life; and, be it I, be it others, the prison shall be purged of these sacres gueux la. He is right!' responds the general cry."-And so the frightful" purgation" proceeds.

"Three yet remained; one of whom was the Abbé Sicard, teacher of the deaf and dumb. The sabres were already over his head, when Monnot, the watchmaker, flung himself before them, crying, 'Kill me rather, and not this man, who is useful to our country!' These words, uttered with the fire and impetuosity of a generous soul, suspended death. Profiting by this moment of calm, Abbé Sicard and the other two were got conveyed into the back part of the room."

"At five in the afternoon, Billaud Varennes, Procureur-Substitut, arrives; he had on his sash, and the small puce coat and black wig we are used to see on him: walking over carcasses, he makes a short harangue to the peoAbbé Sicard, as is well known, survived; ple, and ends thus: 'People, thou art sacrificand the narrative which he also published ex-ing thy enemies; thou art in thy duty.' This ists-sufficient to prove, among other things, cannibal speech lends them new animation. that "Félémhesi" had but two eyes, and his The killers blaze up, cry louder than ever for own share of sagacity and heart; that he has new victims:-how to staunch this new thirst mis-seen, miscounted, and, knowingly or un- of blood? A voice speaks from beside Billaud; knowingly, misstated not a little,-as one poor it was Maillard's voice: There is nothing man, in these circumstances, might. Félémhe- more to do here; let us to the Carmes! They si continues, we only inverting his arrange- run thither: in five minutes more I saw them ment somewhat:trailing corpses by the heels. A killer, (I cannot say a man,) in very coarse clothes, had, as it would seem, been specially commissioned to dispatch the Abbé Lenfant; for, apprehensive lest the prey might be missed, he takes water, flings it on the corpses, washes their blood-smeared faces, turns them over, and seems at last to ascertain that the Abbé Len fant is among them."-Vol. xviii. p. 169.

This is the September massacre, the last scene we can give as a specimen. Thus, in these curious records of the "Histoire Parlementaire," as in some Ezekiel vision become real, does scene after scene disclose itself, now in rose-light, now in sulphurous black, and grow ever more fitful, dream-like,-till the Vendemiaire scene come, and Napoleon blow forth his grape-shot, and Sansculottism be no more!

"Twelve scoundrels, presided by Maillard, with whom they had probably combined this project beforehand, find themselves 'by chance' among the crowd; and now, being well-known one to another, they unite themselves in the name of the sovereign people,' whether it were of their own private audacity, or that they had secretly received superior orders. They lay hold of the prison registers, and turn them over; the turnkeys fall a-trembling; the jailer's wife and the jailer faint; the prison is surrounded by furious men; there is shouting, clamouring: the door is assaulted, like to be forced; when one of the Committee-members presents himself at the outer gate, and begs audience: his signs obtain a moment's silence; the doors open, he advances, gets a chair, mounts on it, and speaks:- Comrades, friends,' said he, you are good patriots; your resent- Touching the political and metaphysical ment is just. Open war to the enemies of the speculations of our two editors, we shall say common good; neither truce nor mercy; it is little. They are of the sort we lamented in a war to the death! I feel like you that they Mignet, and generally in Frenchmen of this must all perish; and yet, if you are good citi-day-a jingling of formulas; unfruitful as zens, you must love justice. There is not one of you but would shudder at the notion of shedding innocent blood.' 'Yes, yes!' reply the people. Well, then, I ask of you if, without inquiry or investigation, you fling yourselves like mad tigers on your fellow-men- -?' Here the speaker was interrupted by one of the crowd, who, with a bloody sabre in his hand, his eyes glancing with rage, cleaves the press, and refutes him in these terms: "Tell us, Monsieur le Citoyen, explain to us then, would the sacres gueux of Prussians and Austrians, if they were at Paris, investigate for the guilty? Would they not cut right and left, as the Swiss on the Tenth of August did? Well, I am no speaker, I can stuff the ears of no one; but I tell you I have a wife and five children, whom I leave with my section here while I go and fight the enemy: but it is not my bargain that

that Kalmuck prayer! Perhaps the strangestlooking particular doctrine we have noticed is this: that the French Revolution was at bottom an attempt to realize Christianity, and fairly put it in action, in our world. For eigh teen centuries (it is not denied) men had been doing more or less that way; but they set their shoulder rightly to the wheel, and gave a dead-lift, for the first time then. Good M. Roux! and yet the good Roux does mean something by this; and even something true. But a marginal annotator has written on our copy-"For the love of Heaven, Messieurs, humez vos formules:" make away with your formulas; take off your facetted spectacles; open your eyes a little and look! There is, indeed, here and there, considerable rumbling of the rotatory calabash, which rattles and rumbles concerning Progress of the Species, Des

trine du Progrès, Exploitations, le Christ, the | space he takes is small. Whoever wants to Verbe, and what not; written in a vein of deep, form for himself an image of the actual state even of intense seriousness; but profitable, of French Meditation, and under what surone would think, to no man or woman. In this prising shackles a French thinking man of style M. Roux (for it is he, we understand) these days finds himself gyved, and mechanpainfully composes a preface to each volume, ized, and reduced to the verge of zero, may and has even given a whole introductory his- open M. Roux's Prefaces, and see it as in an tory of France: we read some seven or eight expressive summary. of his first prefaces, hoping always to get some nourishment; but seldom or never cut him open now. Fighting in that way, behind cover, he is comparatively harmless; merely wasting vou so many pence per number: happily the

We wish our two French friends all speed in their business; and do again honestly recommend this "Histoire Parlementaire" to any and all of our English friends who take inte rest in that subject.

MEMOIRS OF THE LIFE OF SCOTT.*

[LONDON AND Westminster REVIEW, 1838.]

what farther ocular survey you find useful, and speech is not needed at all. O Fenimore Cooper, it is most true there is "an instinctive tendency in men to look at at any man that has become distinguished;" and, moreover, an instinctive desire in men to become distinguished and be looked at!

For the rest, we will call it a most valuable tendency this; indispensable to mankind. Without it where were star-and-garter, and significance of rank; where were all ambition, money-getting, respectability of gig or no gig; and, in a word, the main impetus by which

AMERICAN Cooper asserts, in one of his books, that there is "an instinctive tendency in men to look at any man who has become distinguished." True, surely; as all observation and survey of mankind, from China to Peru, from Nebuchadnezzar to Old Hickory, will testify! Why do men crowd towards the improved drop at Newgate, eager to catch a sight? The man about to be hanged is in a distinguished situation. Men crowd to such extent, that Greenacre's is not the only life choked out there. Again, ask of these leathern vehicles, cabriolets, neat-flies, with blue men and women in them, that scour all thorough-society moves, the main force by which it fares, Whither so fast? To see dear Mrs. Rigmarole, the distinguished female! Great Mr. Rigmarole, the distinguished male. Or, consider the crowning phenomenon, and summary of modern civilization, a soirée of lions. Glittering are the rooms, well-lighted, thronged; bright flows their undulatory flood of blonde gowns and dress-coats, a soft smile dwelling on all faces; for behold there also flow the lions, hovering distinguished: oracles of the age, of one sort or another. Oracles really pleasant to see; whom it is worth while to go and see: look at them, but inquire not of them, depart rather and be thankful. For your lionsoirée admits not of speech; there lies the speciality of it. A meeting together of human creatures; and yet (so high has civilization gone) the primary aim of human meeting, that soul might in some articulate utterance unfold itself to soul, can be dispensed with in it. Utterance there is not: nay, there is a certain grinning play of tongue-fence, and make-believe of utterance, considerably worse than none. For which reason it has been suggested, with an eye to sincerity and silence in such lion-soirées, Might not each lion be, for example, ticketed, as wiue-decanters are? Let him carry, slung round him, in such ornamental manner as seemed good, his silver label with name engraved; you lift his label, and read it, with

Memoirs of the Life of Sir Walter Scott, Baronet. Vol. i.-vi. Cadell. Edinburgh, 1837.

hangs together? A tendency, we say, of manifold results: of manifold origin, not ridiculous only, but sublime;-which some incline to deduce from the mere gregarious purblind nature of man, prompting him to run, "as dimeyed animals do, towards any glittering object, were it but a scoured tankard, and mistake it for a solar luminary," or even," sheep-like, to run and crowd because many have already run!" It is, indeed, curious to consider how men do make the gods that themselves worship. For the most famed man, round whom all the world rapturously huzzahs, and venerates as if his like were not, is the same man whom all the world was wont to jostle into the kennels; not a changed man, but in every fibre of him the same man. Foolish world, what went ye out to see? A tankard scoured bright; and do there not lie, of the self-same pewter, whole barrowfuls of tankards, though by worse fortune all still in the dim state?

Not the gilt

And yet, at bottom, it is not merely our gre garious sheep-like quality, but something better, and indeed best; what has been called "the perpetual fact of hero-worship;" our inborn sincere love of great men! farthing, for its own sake, do even fools covet, but the gold guinea which they mistake it for. Veneration of great men is perennial in the nature of man; this, in all times, especially in these, is one of the blessedest facts predicable of him. In all times, even in these seemingly so disobedient times, "it remains a blessed