en say there are thirty thousand
Chevaliers of the Poniard lurking in the woods there: lurking in the
woods, and thirty thousand,--for the human Imagination is not fettered.
But now, how easily might these, dashing out on Lafayette, snatch off
the Hereditary Representative; and roll away with him, after the manner
of a whirlblast, whither they listed!--Enough, it were well the King did
not go. Lafayette is forewarned and forearmed: but, indeed, is the risk
his only; or his and all France's?

Monday the eighteenth of April is come; the Easter Journey to
Saint-Cloud shall take effect. National Guard has got its orders;
a First Division, as Advanced Guard, has even marched, and probably
arrived. His Majesty's Maison-bouche, they say, is all busy stewing and
frying at Saint-Cloud; the King's Dinner not far from ready there. About
one o'clock, the Royal Carriage, with its eight royal blacks, shoots
stately into the Place du Carrousel; draws up to receive its royal
burden. But hark! From the neighbouring Church of Saint-Roch, the
tocsin begins ding-donging. Is the King stolen then; he is going; gone?
Multitudes of persons crowd the Carrousel: the Royal Carriage still
stands there;--and, by Heaven's strength, shall stand!

Lafayette comes up, with aide-de-camps and oratory; pervading the
groups: "Taisez vous," answer the groups, "the King shall not go."
Monsieur appears, at an upper window: ten thousand voices bray and
shriek, "Nous ne voulons pas que le Roi parte." Their Majesties have
mounted. Crack go the whips; but twenty Patriot arms have seized each
of the eight bridles: there is rearing, rocking, vociferation; not the
smallest headway. In vain does Lafayette fret, indignant; and perorate
and strive: Patriots in the passion of terror, bellow round the Royal
Carriage; it is one bellowing sea of Patriot terror run frantic. Will
Royalty fly off towards Austria; like a lit rocket, towards endless
Conflagration of Civil War? Stop it, ye Patriots, in the name of Heaven!
Rude voices passionately apostrophise Royalty itself. Usher Campan, and
other the like official persons, pressing forward with help or advice,
are clutched by the sashes, and hurled and whirled, in a confused
perilous manner; so that her Majesty has to plead passionately from the
carriage-window.

Order cannot be heard, cannot be followed; National Guards know not how
to act. Centre Grenadiers, of the Observatoire Battalion, are there;
not on duty; alas, in