tempest of huzzaings, hand-clappings, aided by 'occasional rollings' of
drum-music. Harangues of due fervour are delivered; especially by Lally
Tollendal, pious son of the ill-fated murdered Lally; on whose head,
in consequence, a civic crown (of oak or parsley) is forced,--which he
forcibly transfers to Bailly's.

But surely, for one thing, the National Guard must have a General!
Moreau de Saint-Mery, he of the 'three thousand orders,' casts one of
his significant glances on the Bust of Lafayette, which has stood there
ever since the American War of Liberty. Whereupon, by acclamation,
Lafayette is nominated. Again, in room of the slain traitor or
quasi-traitor Flesselles, President Bailly shall be--Provost of the
Merchants? No: Mayor of Paris! So be it. Maire de Paris! Mayor
Bailly, General Lafayette; vive Bailly, vive Lafayette--the universal
out-of-doors multitude rends the welkin in confirmation.--And now,
finally, let us to Notre-Dame for a Te Deum.

Towards Notre-Dame Cathedral, in glad procession, these Regenerators of
the Country walk, through a jubilant people; in fraternal manner; Abbe
Lefevre, still black with his gunpowder services, walking arm in arm
with the white-stoled Archbishop. Poor Bailly comes upon the Foundling
Children, sent to kneel to him; and 'weeps.' Te Deum, our Archbishop
officiating, is not only sung, but shot--with blank cartridges. Our
joy is boundless as our wo threatened to be. Paris, by her own pike
and musket, and the valour of her own heart, has conquered the very
wargods,--to the satisfaction now of Majesty itself. A courier is, this
night, getting under way for Necker: the People's Minister, invited back
by King, by National Assembly, and Nation, shall traverse France amid
shoutings, and the sound of trumpet and timbrel.