soot-black?  Quarteroon Oge, Friend of our Parisian Brissotin Friends of the Blacks, felt, for his share too, that Insurrection was the most sacred of duties.  So the tricolor Cockades had fluttered and swashed only some three months on the Creole hat, when Oge’s signal-conflagrations went aloft; with the voice of rage and terror.  Repressed, doomed to die, he took black powder or seedgrains in the hollow of his hand, this Oge; sprinkled a film of white ones on the top, and said to his Judges, “Behold they are white;”—­then shook his hand, and said “Where are the Whites, Ou sont les Blancs?”

So now, in the Autumn of 1791, looking from the sky-windows of Cap Francais, thick clouds of smoke girdle our horizon, smoke in the day, in the night fire; preceded by fugitive shrieking white women, by Terror and Rumour.  Black demonised squadrons are massacring and harrying, with nameless cruelty.  They fight and fire ’from behind thickets and coverts,’ for the Black man loves the Bush; they rush to the attack, thousands strong, with brandished cutlasses and fusils, with caperings, shoutings and vociferation,—­which, if the White Volunteer Company stands firm, dwindle into staggerings, into quick gabblement, into panic flight at the first volley, perhaps before it. (Deux Amis, x. 157.) Poor Oge could be broken on the wheel; this fire-whirlwind too can be abated, driven up into the Mountains:  but Saint-Domingo is shaken, as Oge’s seedgrains were; shaking, writhing in long horrid death-throes, it is Black without remedy; and remains, as African Haiti, a monition to the world.

O my Parisian Friends, is not this, as well as Regraters and Feuillant Plotters, one cause of the astonishing dearth of Sugar!  The Grocer, palpitant, with drooping lip, sees his Sugar taxe; weighed out by Female Patriotism, in instant retail, at the inadequate rate of twenty-five sous, or thirteen pence a pound.  “Abstain from it?” yes, ye Patriot Sections, all ye Jacobins, abstain!  Louvet and Collot-d’Herbois so advise; resolute to make the sacrifice:  though “how shall literary men do without coffee?” Abstain, with an oath; that is the surest! (Debats des Jacobins, &c.  Hist.  Parl. xiii. 171, 92-98.)

Also, for like reason, must not Brest and the Shipping Interest languish?  Poor Brest languishes, sorrowing, not without spleen; denounces an Aristocrat Bertrand-Moleville traitorous Aristocrat Marine-Minister.  Do not her Ships and King’s Ships lie rotting piecemeal in harbour; Naval Officers mostly fled, and on furlough too, with pay?  Little stirring there; if it be not the Brest Gallies, whip-driven, with their Galley-Slaves,—­alas, with some Forty of our hapless Swiss Soldiers of Chateau-Vieux, among others!  These Forty Swiss, too mindful of Nanci, do now, in their red wool caps, tug sorrowfully at the oar; looking into the Atlantic brine, which reflects only their own sorrowful shaggy faces; and seem forgotten of Hope.

But, on the whole, may we not say, in fugitive language, that the French Constitution which shall march is very rheumatic, full of shooting internal pains, in joint and muscle; and will not march without difficulty?