e was greatly
dreaded. They then, from an apprehension that the doors might be closed
during the night in order to dissolve the Assembly, declared their
sittings permanent. A vice-president was chosen, to lessen the fatigue
of the Archbishop of Vienne. The choice fell upon Lafayette. In this
manner a part of the Assembly sat up all night. It passed without
deliberation, the deputies remaining on their seats, silent, but calm
and serene. What thoughts must have revolved through the minds of those
present on this occasion! Patriotism and philosophy had here taken up
their sanctuary. If we consider their situation; the hopes that filled
their breasts; the trials they had to encounter; the future destiny of
their country, of the world, which hung on their decision as in a
balance; the bitter wrongs they were about to sweep away; the good they
had it in their power to accomplish--the countenances of the Assembly
must have been majestic, and radiant with the light that through them
was about to dawn on ages yet unborn. They might foresee a struggle, the
last convulsive efforts of pride and power to keep the world in its
wonted subjection--but that was nothing--their final triumph over all
opposition was assured in the eternal principles of justice and in their
own unshaken devotedness to the great cause of mankind! If the result
did not altogether correspond to the intentions of those firm and
enlightened patriots who so nobly planned it, the fault was not in them,
but in others.

At Paris the insurrection had taken a more decided turn. Early in the
morning the people assembled in large bodies at the Hotel de Ville; the
tocsin sounded from all the churches; the drums beat to summon the
citizens together, who formed themselves into different bands of
volunteers. All that they wanted was arms. These, except a few at the
gunsmiths' shops, were not to be had. They then applied to M. de
Flesselles, a provost of the city, who amused them with fair words. "My
children," he said, "I am your father!" This paternal style seems to
have been the order of the day. A committee sat at the Hotel de Ville to
take measures for the public safety. Meanwhile a granary had been broken
open: the Garde-Meuble had been ransacked for old arms; the armorers'
shops were plundered; all was a scene of confusion, and the utmost
dismay everywhere prevailed. But no private mischief was done. It was a
moment of popular frenzy, but one in which the public dang