ers'-queues themselves discern on the streets of Paris,
the most astonishing number of Officers on furlough, Crosses of St.
Louis, and such like? Some reckon 'from a thousand to twelve hundred.'
Officers of all uniforms; nay one uniform never before seen by eye:
green faced with red! The tricolor cockade is not always visible: but
what, in the name of Heaven, may these black cockades, which some wear,
foreshadow?

Hunger whets everything, especially Suspicion and Indignation. Realities
themselves, in this Paris, have grown unreal: preternatural. Phantasms
once more stalk through the brain of hungry France. O ye laggards and
dastards, cry shrill voices from the Queues, if ye had the hearts of
men, ye would take your pikes and secondhand firelocks, and look into
it; not leave your wives and daughters to be starved, murdered, and
worse!--Peace, women! The heart of man is bitter and heavy; Patriotism,
driven out by Patrollotism, knows not what to resolve on.

The truth is, the Oeil-de-Boeuf has rallied; to a certain unknown
extent. A changed Oeil-de-Boeuf; with Versailles National Guards, in
their tricolor cockades, doing duty there; a Court all flaring with
tricolor! Yet even to a tricolor Court men will rally. Ye loyal hearts,
burnt-out Seigneurs, rally round your Queen! With wishes; which will
produce hopes; which will produce attempts!

For indeed self-preservation being such a law of Nature, what can a
rallied Court do, but attempt and endeavour, or call it plot,--with such
wisdom and unwisdom as it has? They will fly, escorted, to Metz,
where brave Bouille commands; they will raise the Royal Standard: the
Bond-signatures shall become armed men. Were not the King so
languid! Their Bond, if at all signed, must be signed without his
privity.--Unhappy King, he has but one resolution: not to have a civil
war. For the rest, he still hunts, having ceased lockmaking; he still
dozes, and digests; is clay in the hands of the potter. Ill will it fare
with him, in a world where all is helping itself; where, as has been
written, 'whosoever is not hammer must be stithy;' and 'the very hyssop
on the wall grows there, in that chink, because the whole Universe could
not prevent its growing!'

But as for the coming up of this Regiment de Flandre, may it not be
urged that there were Saint-Huruge Petitions, and continual meal-mobs?
Undebauched Soldiers, be there plot, or only dim elements of a plot, are
always good. Did not the Versa