uai
Saint-Bernard; and plead earnestly, having called halt. Peaceable, ye
virtuous tricolor Municipals, peaceable are we as the sucking dove.
Behold our Tennis-Court Mai. Petition is legal; and as for arms, did
not an august Legislative receive the so-called Eight Thousand in arms,
Feuillants though they were? Our Pikes, are they not of National iron?
Law is our father and mother, whom we will not dishonour; but Patriotism
is our own soul. Peaceable, ye virtuous Municipals;--and on the whole,
limited as to time! Stop we cannot; march ye with us.--The Black
Breeches agitate themselves, impatient; the cannon-wheels grumble: the
many-footed Host tramps on.

How it reached the Salle de Manege, like an ever-waxing river; got
admittance, after debate; read its Address; and defiled, dancing
and ca-ira-ing, led by tall sonorous Santerre and tall sonorous
Saint-Huruge: how it flowed, not now a waxing river but a shut Caspian
lake, round all Precincts of the Tuileries; the front Patriot squeezed
by the rearward, against barred iron Grates, like to have the life
squeezed out of him, and looking too into the dread throat of cannon,
for National Battalions stand ranked within: how tricolor Municipals ran
assiduous, and Royalists with Tickets of Entry; and both Majesties sat
in the interior surrounded by men in black: all this the human mind
shall fancy for itself, or read in old Newspapers, and Syndic Roederer's
Chronicle of Fifty Days. (Roederer, &c. &c. in Hist. Parl. xv.
98-194.)

Our Mai is planted; if not in the Feuillants Terrace, whither is no
ingate, then in the Garden of the Capuchins, as near as we could get.
National Assembly has adjourned till the Evening Session: perhaps this
shut lake, finding no ingate, will retire to its sources again; and
disappear in peace? Alas, not yet: rearward still presses on; rearward
knows little what pressure is in the front. One would wish at all
events, were it possible, to have a word with his Majesty first!

The shadows fall longer, eastward; it is four o'clock: will his
Majesty not come out? Hardly he! In that case, Commandant Santerre,
Cattle-butcher Legendre, Patriot Huguenin with the tocsin in his heart;
they, and others of authority, will enter in. Petition and request to
wearied uncertain National Guard; louder and louder petition; backed
by the rattle of our two cannons! The reluctant Grate opens: endless
Sansculottic multitudes flood the stairs; knock at the wooden guardian