If a bearer of one of these congratulatory compliments were not apprized of the forms of the House, he would be rather astonished, at his introduction, to see one member in a menacing attitude, and another denying his veracity in terms perfectly explicit, though not very civil.  Perhaps, in two minutes, the partizans of each opponent all rise and clamour, as if preparing for a combat—­the President puts on his hat as the signal of a storm—­the subordinate disputants are appeased—­and the revilings of the principal ones renewed; till, after torrents of indecent language, the quarrel is terminated by a fraternal embrace.*—­I think, after such a scene, an addresser must feel a little humiliated, and would return without finding his pride greatly increased by his mission.

* I do not make any assertions of this nature from conjecture or partial evidence.  The journals of the time attest that the scenes I describe occur almost in every debate.—­As a proof, I subjoin some extracts taken nearly at hazard: 

“January 7th, Convention Nationale, Presidence de Treilhard.—­The debate was opened by an address from the department of Finisterre, expressing their wishes, and adding, that these were likewise the wishes of the nation at large—­that Marat, Robespierre, Bazire, Chabot, Merlin, Danton, and their accomplices, might be expelled the Convention as caballers and intriguers paid by the tyrants at war with France.”

The account of this debate is thus continued—­“The almost daily troubles which arise in the Convention were on the point of being renewed, when a member, a friend to order, spoke as follows, and, it is remarked, was quietly listened to: 

     “’Citizens,

“’If three months of uninterrupted silence has given me any claim to your attention, I now ask it in the name of our afflicted country.  Were I to continue silent any longer, I should render myself as culpable as those who never hold their tongues.  I see we are all sensible of the painfulness of our situation.  Every day dissatisfied with ourselves, we come to the debate with the intention of doing something, and every day we return without having done any thing.  The people expect from us wise laws, and not storms and tumults.  How are we to make these wise laws, and keep twenty-five millions of people quiet, when we, who are only seven hundred and fifty individuals, give an example of perpetual riot and disorder?  What signifies our preaching the unity and indivisibility of the republic, when we cannot maintain peace and union amongst ourselves?  What good can we expect to do amidst such scandalous disturbances, and while we spend our time in attending to informations, accusations, and inculpations, for the most part utterly unfounded?  For my part, I see but one means of attaining any thing like dignity and tranquillity, and that is, by submitting ourselves to coercive regulations.’”