ample
time, since the disposition to insurrection manifested by the people,
to assemble the troops.

Every visitor, and, notwithstanding the disturbed state of Paris, we
have already had several to-day, announces some fresh disaster, each
representing it according to the political creed to which he adheres.
The Royalists assert that the outbreak is the result of a long and
grave conspiracy, fomented by those who expect to derive advantage from
it; while the Liberals maintain that it has arisen spontaneously and
simultaneously from the wounded spirit of liberty, lashed into a
frenzied resistance by the ordonnances. I pretend not to know which of
these statements is the most correct; but I believe that the favourite
opinion of the worthy Sir Roger de Coverley, that "much could be said
on both sides of the question," might now fairly be urged; for,
according to the march of events, it is but too probable that the
melodrama now enacting before our eyes has not been an impromptu; and
it is quite clear that the ordonnances have furnished the occasion, and
the excuse (if such were required), for the performance.

Well might a great Italian writer pronounce revolutions to be the
carnivals of history. This one seems to be not only a carnival but
Saturnalia, for the ebriety of the slaves of liberty is well calculated
to disgust the friends; and those who witness this intoxication are
reminded of the observation of Voltaire, that "_Les Francais goutent de
la liberte comme des liqueurs fortes avec lesquelles ils s'enivrent."_
A revolution affected by physical instead of moral force, is a grave
wound inflicted on social order and civilization--a wound which it
takes ages to heal.

When on the point of sitting down to our _dejeuner a la fourchette_
(for people will eat while thrones are crumbling), repeated knockings,
at the _porte-cochere_ induced us to look from the window in order to
see who the persons were who thus loudly demanded admittance, when it
was discovered that they were Doctors Pasquier and De Guise. They had
been dressing the wounded at the hospital in the Faubourg du Roule, and
finding on their return that the Champs-Elysees and Rue St.-Honore were
the scenes of combat, had bethought themselves of our vicinity, and
sought shelter. When our unexpected visitants, deeming themselves
fortunate in having found a refuge, prepared to join our repast, it was
ludicrous to observe the lengthened faces of our servants at th