are now at death-grips; and do fight with all weapons, even with scenic shows.  The walls of Paris, accordingly, are covered with Placard and Counter-Placard, on the subject of Forty Swiss blockheads.  Journal responds to Journal; Player Collot to Poetaster Roucher; Joseph Chenier the Jacobin, squire of Theroigne, to his Brother Andre the Feuillant; Mayor Petion to Dupont de Nemours:  and for the space of two months, there is nowhere peace for the thought of man,—­till this thing be settled.

Gloria in excelsis!  The Forty Swiss are at last got ‘amnestied.’  Rejoice ye Forty:  doff your greasy wool Bonnets, which shall become Caps of Liberty.  The Brest Daughter-Society welcomes you from on board, with kisses on each cheek:  your iron Handcuffs are disputed as Relics of Saints; the Brest Society indeed can have one portion, which it will beat into Pikes, a sort of Sacred Pikes; but the other portion must belong to Paris, and be suspended from the dome there, along with the Flags of the Three Free Peoples!  Such a goose is man; and cackles over plush-velvet Grand Monarques and woollen Galley-slaves; over everything and over nothing,—­and will cackle with his whole soul merely if others cackle!

On the ninth morning of April, these Forty Swiss blockheads arrive.  From Versailles; with vivats heaven-high; with the affluence of men and women.  To the Townhall we conduct them; nay to the Legislative itself, though not without difficulty.  They are harangued, bedinnered, begifted,—­the very Court, not for conscience’ sake, contributing something; and their Public Festival shall be next Sunday.  Next Sunday accordingly it is. (Newspapers of February, March, April, 1792; Iambe d’Andre Chenier sur la Fete des Suisses; &c., &c. in Hist.  Parl. xiii, xiv.) They are mounted into a ‘triumphal Car resembling a ship;’ are carted over Paris, with the clang of cymbals and drums, all mortals assisting applausive; carted to the Champ-de-Mars and Fatherland’s Altar; and finally carted, for Time always brings deliverance,—­into invisibility for evermore.

Whereupon dispersed Feuillantism, or that Party which loves Liberty yet not more than Monarchy, will likewise have its Festival:  Festival of Simonneau, unfortunate Mayor of Etampes, who died for the Law; most surely for the Law, though Jacobinism disputes; being trampled down with his Red Flag in the riot about grains.  At which Festival the Public again assists, unapplausive:  not we.

On the whole, Festivals are not wanting; beautiful rainbow-spray when all is now rushing treble-quick towards its Niagara Fall.  National repasts there are; countenanced by Mayor Petion; Saint-Antoine, and the Strong Ones of the Halles defiling through Jacobin Club, “their felicity,” according to Santerre, “not perfect otherwise;” singing many-voiced their ca-ira, dancing their ronde patriotique.  Among whom one is glad to discern Saint-Huruge, expressly ‘in white hat,’ the Saint-Christopher