stumbling blindly, undismayed,
down to his rest. At half-past eight in the morning, Dr. Petit, standing
at the foot of the bed, says "Il ne souffre plus." His suffering and his
working are now ended.

Even so, ye silent Patriot multitudes, all ye men of France; this man
is rapt away from you. He has fallen suddenly, without bending till he
broke; as a tower falls, smitten by sudden lightning. His word ye shall
hear no more, his guidance follow no more.--The multitudes depart,
heartstruck; spread the sad tidings. How touching is the loyalty of men
to their Sovereign Man! All theatres, public amusements close; no joyful
meeting can be held in these nights, joy is not for them: the People
break in upon private dancing-parties, and sullenly command that they
cease. Of such dancing-parties apparently but two came to light; and
these also have gone out. The gloom is universal: never in this City was
such sorrow for one death; never since that old night when Louis XII.
departed, 'and the Crieurs des Corps went sounding their bells, and
crying along the streets: Le bon roi Louis, pere du peuple, est mort,
The good King Louis, Father of the People, is dead!' (Henault, Abrege
Chronologique, p. 429.) King Mirabeau is now the lost King; and one may
say with little exaggeration, all the People mourns for him.

For three days there is low wide moan: weeping in the National Assembly
itself. The streets are all mournful; orators mounted on the bournes,
with large silent audience, preaching the funeral sermon of the dead.
Let no coachman whip fast, distractively with his rolling wheels, or
almost at all, through these groups! His traces may be cut; himself and
his fare, as incurable Aristocrats, hurled sulkily into the kennels. The
bourne-stone orators speak as it is given them; the Sansculottic People,
with its rude soul, listens eager,--as men will to any Sermon, or Sermo,
when it is a spoken Word meaning a Thing, and not a Babblement meaning
No-thing. In the Restaurateur's of the Palais Royal, the waiter remarks,
"Fine weather, Monsieur:"--"Yes, my friend," answers the ancient Man of
Letters, "very fine; but Mirabeau is dead." Hoarse rhythmic threnodies
comes also from the throats of balladsingers; are sold on gray-white
paper at a sou each. (Fils Adoptif, viii. l. 19; Newspapers and Excerpts
(in Hist. Parl. ix. 366-402).) But of Portraits, engraved, painted,
hewn, and written; of Eulogies, Reminiscences, Biographies, nay
Vaudevill