s, sexes, flying
at once across the Loire,' with wail borne far on the winds: and, in
brief, for years coming, such a suite of scenes as glorious war has not
offered in these late ages, not since our Albigenses and Crusadings
were over,--save indeed some chance Palatinate, or so, we might have to
'burn,' by way of exception. The 'eight thousand at Chatillon' will be
got dispelled for the moment; the fire scattered, not extinguished. To
the dints and bruises of outward battle there is to be added henceforth
a deadlier internal gangrene.

This rising in La Vendee reports itself at Paris on Wednesday the 29th
of August;--just as we had got our Electors elected; and, in spite of
Brunswick's and Longwi's teeth, were hoping still to have a National
Convention, if it pleased Heaven. But indeed, otherwise, this Wednesday
is to be regarded as one of the notablest Paris had yet seen: gloomy
tidings come successively, like Job's messengers; are met by gloomy
answers. Of Sardinia rising to invade the South-East, and Spain
threatening the South, we do not speak. But are not the Prussians
masters of Longwi (treacherously yielded, one would say); and preparing
to besiege Verdun? Clairfait and his Austrians are encompassing
Thionville; darkening the North. Not Metz-land now, but the Clermontais
is getting harried; flying hulans and huzzars have been seen on the
Chalons Road, almost as far as Sainte-Menehould. Heart, ye Patriots, if
ye lose heart, ye lose all!

It is not without a dramatic emotion that one reads in the Parliamentary
Debates of this Wednesday evening 'past seven o'clock,' the scene with
the military fugitives from Longwi. Wayworn, dusty, disheartened, these
poor men enter the Legislative, about sunset or after; give the most
pathetic detail of the frightful pass they were in:--Prussians billowing
round by the myriad, volcanically spouting fire for fifteen hours: we,
scattered sparse on the ramparts, hardly a cannoneer to two guns; our
dastard Commandant Lavergne no where shewing face; the priming would
not catch; there was no powder in the bombs,--what could we do? "Mourir!
Die!" answer prompt voices; (Hist. Parl. xvii. 148.) and the dusty
fugitives must shrink elsewhither for comfort.--Yes, Mourir, that is now
the word. Be Longwi a proverb and a hissing among French strong-places:
let it (says the Legislative) be obliterated rather, from the shamed
face of the Earth;--and so there has gone forth Decree, that Longwi
sh